Forget Us Not Into Alteration
by Jalen Strix
Summary: In which Sarah discovers the perils of switching fandom allegiances, and the consequences thereof.
1. Allegiance

_This was written for a challenge at the lovely labyfic livejournal community, with the following required elements: a big, creaky house, and noises of a distinctly goblin-y nature._

**Forget Us Not** **Into Alteration**

_In which Sarah discovers the perils of switching fandom allegiances._

* * *

The girls paused for a moment once the immense structure came fully into view. It had an honest-to-goodness turret.

Sarah let out an appreciative whistle. "Perfect goth club material."

Mandy grinned. "You know it. International goth/industrial club listing for the win, baby."

"Hell, yeah," agreed Lynn. "I hope the music is as good as the decor."

Mandy eyed the description on her phone. "It claims they're supposed to have thirteen different rooms spinning everything from darkwave to death metal to ethereal ambient."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Thirteen different rooms? Holy monkeys, how big _is_ this place?"

"Big enough to have a smashing time," replied Lynn. "Also, what the hell is ethereal ambient?"

Mandy shrugged. "Guess we'll find out. C'mon – there's the entrance. Let's get out of the rain."

"Awww, look – it has its own uber-gothy welcome sign!" Sarah sighed fondly as they wandered beneath the protective overhang of the patio. "You have to appreciate good calligraphy."

"And good drama," noted Mandy. "'_Beware, for the path you take could lead to certain destruction'._ Ooooooooh." She waggled her eyebrows theatrically.

"It's just a false alarm," replied Sarah.

"What?" Mandy looked at her quizzically.

Sarah shook her head. "Sorry, I…never mind. What's that scratched beneath it?" She pointed at some delicate, curving lines below the words. "Do you see it? Looks like…sweet holy Tolkien, I think it's the black speech of Mordor. I _love_ this place."

Lynn squinted at the lines. "How do you even know these things? That totally looks like chicken scratch."

"Only to those unversed in Tengwar," Sarah replied loftily.

"Alright, fangirl, so what does it say?" said Mandy.

"Uh…don't have my lexicon handy. Hold on," Sarah replied, whipping out her phone. "Interwebs to the rescue…aha, here we go. Let's see…" She stared at the scratches for a moment. "Hmmm, a bunch of words that aren't listed here actually. Wait, here's one: _Gimbatul._ 'Find them'". She paused, scrutinizing the sign_._"_Thrakizish_. 'Bring me'. _Lug_. 'Tower'. _Goth_!? Oh, that's actually a real word. 'Lord', apparently." She laughed, the merry sound carried away by the rising wind.

Lynn rolled her eyes, tapping her foot. "C'mon! Before the club closes while you two are geeking out at the sign."

The interior turned out to be as sumptuous as the exterior intimated, liberally decorated in satin, damask, and tastefully lit candelabras. Velvet furniture lined the wood-paneled walls, and peeked enticingly from inside rooms.

"Ah, there's the 80s room!" Lynn zipped around a wainscoted corner and onto a glossy dance floor as a familiar chorus drifted in. _You spin me right round, baby, right round,_ _like a record, baby…_

Mandy glanced at Sarah, with a wry grin. "Could have predicted that one. Shall we?"

"Do let's."

* * *

Several songs later, Sarah broke off in search of a drink, leaving Lynn still going strong to a remix of _Let's Dance_ while Mandy watched her from a conveniently located red velvet chaise lounge.

It turned out to be more of a quest than Sarah anticipated. She found room after room filled with delightful musical variants and delightful people dancing to them, but nary a bar to be seen. _Sweet Telperion, I wish I could find some water._..

She rounded another corner, nearly tripping over a darkly lacquered wooden step. Following the stairs up, she discovered a rather large, deserted room filled with yet more velvet furniture. There was a single window open to let the night air in, and the most curious scritching sounds were echoing against the wooden floor and walls, accompanied by a hollow whistling that put her in mind of a door's threshold. _Huh, this must be that ethereal ambient business on some kind of preset._ She walked over to the window and licked her lips, sighing melodramatically. "My eternal _soul_ for some water_."_

Thunder rolled and she immediately got a face full of rain, courtesy of the wild storm outside. She sucked gratefully at the moisture trickling along her mouth, laughing softly. "Careful what you wish for, check."

"_Yes_, lady."

Sarah froze for several heartbeats before turning slowly back around.

Lightning flashed for a shocking instant, illuminating scores of glittering eyes in hulking man-size forms. Then it was mostly dark again, with only the smoky, skittering presence of many creatures hanging in the cool air.

"You," hissed a voice like nails, "_forgots_ us, lady."

A chill ran along Sarah's spine.

"Like we was in an oubliette," murmured another voice.

"Dark and lonely, it was," said the first voice.

"And we got so…_hungry_," said a third voice.

Sarah scraped her voice into a gulping whisper. "Hungry for what?"

"Dreams, lady," said the first voice. "Imagination and illusions, stories and songs. Sweeter than all the goblin fruit that never was. Sweeter than blood."

"We needs it, lady," said the second voice, "needs it so much."

"You had such tasty dreams, luscious and sweet like bone marrow." The first voice had taken on a forlorn note.

"Memory's seed makes the best, most powerful dreams," continued the third voice.

"But they went away when you forgot us. Left us for a different fandom," said the second voice, rife with accusation. "Cruel lady, very cruel."

Sarah swallowed. "Is that why you look…different?"

"This?" gestured a goblin with a gaping hole for a nose and claws like scalpels, splaying his fingers wide and smiling horribly to show broken triangular teeth. The rest of the horde chortled. "You thank Peter Jackson for this, lady."

Sarah blinked. "The director? But why…oh. Oh no."

"Oh _yes_. When we gets hungry enough, we feed on what dreams there is. Lots of goblin dreams come from Mr-Jackson-Sir. Not so tasty fine as yours–"

"Never was, not since!" chorused several voices like sandpaper.

"–but we makes do, lady." The first goblin shrugged a misshapen shoulder.

Sarah took a deep breath, words slipping like wet stones. "And your king?"

A velvety voice came from above and behind her, ghosting along her skin like downy feathers. "Fortunately, the rock singer spurs far more dreams than Director Jackson's goblin king, for rather obvious reasons. I've remained fairly unscathed."

She whirled to face him, a perfidious sigh of relief leaking out. "Thank goodness for small fa–" She broke off as she came almost eye-to-trousers with Jareth, who was nearly just as she remembered him, though now more strongly resembling David Bowie and sprawled majestically on what looked suspiciously like a throne of splintered floorboards.

"Large favors, really." His pointed smile positively twinkled with amusement.

She attempted to lift her eyes towards his face, and succeeded at resting them on the taut line of his thigh, which was propped up on a particularly jagged bit of wood. "That can't be very comfortable." The words tripped out before she could think.

"We all _make do_, Sarah love." There was a sinister caress layered in the words.

"But now we don't need to make do no more," chittered a goblin voice gleefully from behind her. "We got you here, lady. And now…"

Another voice picked up the chanting cadence."…now we eat…"

And more voices. "…eat your dreams…"

And more."…eat them _all up_."

"Leave you empty as dust," continued the first goblin, above the murmuring chorus, "just like we were. Fair's fair." The horde had grown around their shining king as they spoke, a glistening, wrinkled mass of sharp-fingered bodies poised to strike.

Sarah's eyes flicked to Jareth's, her survival instinct whirring. "That also doesn't sound very comfortable. And since when do you all value what's fair, anyway?"

Jareth's grin was decidedly predatory. "You're short on options, love. And we're all long on appetite here."

_Think fast, Williams._ She licked her lips, noting how Jareth's eyes tracked the movement of her tongue. "If you feast on my dreams till there's nothing left of me, they'll be gone forever, won't they?"

There was a pause in the writhing mass. "Lovely feast, though," murmured a goblin voice. "Juicy and luscious, so sweet from Memory's seed, so fresh after so long…" Whispers of agreement and the clicking of teeth began to build again in an aching wave.

Jareth silenced them with a finger snap, a flicker of something dark in his eyes. "Gone forever indeed. What of it?"

_Like what you see, goblin king?_ She leaned into him, letting her corset strategically display some assets. "If they're so very, very good…well, why destroy the source?"

A golden eyebrow arched, his expression unreadable as his eyes drifted along her exposed cleavage before coming back up to her eyes. "If the milk's flowing, why eat the cow, you mean?"

_Touché. Different approach needed._ She straightened back up, resting an elbow jauntily on his knee. "I'll kindly ignore the bovine analogy, but yes. What if I were to offer you my dreams instead, freely given?"

He blinked slowly. "Aren't I the one who's supposed to be offering dreams? That's how our little drama plays out."

She arched an eyebrow back at him, drumming her fingers gently along his knee. "Clearly it's time for an update. You've been neglected, all of you. And heaven knows I've generated enough Tolkien fanfiction to stock a Teleri king's library. Just imagine if I were to turn my energies back your way."

His gloved hand closed on top of her fingers. "What precisely are you proposing, clever girl?"

"Long on appetite, are you? Let me tell stories of you. Every kind of story you could imagine."

His eyes glittered, sharp with interest. "I can imagine quite a lot."

She held his gaze, unflinching. "So can I. Try me."

"Fine. A trial run. Tell us a story of goblins and their king."

"And a chicken!" cackled a goblin to her left. "I've missed chickens, I have."

Her lips quirked in a half-smile. "Goblins, their king, and at least one chicken. Alright then, once upon a time, there was a lonesome king–"

"Lonesome?" Jareth's prickly disdain was apparent. "What happened to devastating or captivating? What sort of story is this, anyway?"

"My story. Now hush. It so happened that this lonesome king was both devastating and captivating…"

"Better."

"…though tragically disposed to interrupting people who were attempting to tell him and his subjects the best damn stories that they ever did hear. Which, understandably, made the stories less likely to get told."

A goblin whimper resounded in the silence, followed by a plaintive moan, and suddenly hundreds of ravenous eyes turned to look at their king in a rather unfriendly manner.

Jareth's lips twitched in adversarial pleasure. "So, you were saying about the king?"

"Yes." Sarah smiled sweetly at him. "It happened that this lonesome, devastating, and captivating king was plagued by an unholy poultry riot…"

"Oooooh," came an appreciative goblin murmur and a smacking of lips as the horde settled down to listen.


	2. Propositions

**Propositions**

_Author's Note: After several excellent suggestions for a continuation of the original one-shot, this emerged._

* * *

"-and so the pusillanimous poultry potentate indeed found himself celebrated mightily at the feast of the crafty Goblin King...in the full bellies of the goblins. The end." Sarah closed her story with a flourish and a sweeping bow.

Uproarious applause broke out from the horde, with many replete sighs and the occasional belch. She noted that there was a softening to certain misshapen features here and there, a subtle symmetry reasserting itself.

She smiled in satisfaction as she turned to Jareth. "So how was my trial run?"

He tapped a finger slowly against his chin, drawing out the moment. "Acceptable."

"Only acceptable?" She arched an eyebrow and glanced at the goblins sprawled happily on either side of him.

His smile was slick as a blade. "Enough that we'll keep you on. For now."

"Mmm, ominous. Keep me on till when?"

"Until you no longer...satisfy." There was a sibilance to the word that left the double entendre bare between them.

_Now that's back on the table, is it?_ She crossed her arms."So what, I'm pulling a Scheherazade and amusing my king for my life?"

"My king," he rolled the words along his tongue, "I do like the sound of that."

She snorted and muttered under her breath, "_Insufferable_."

His eyes flashed and his smile widened considerably. "But with excellent hearing and in charge of a goblin horde. Also devastating and captivating, according to you."

"Ha! And crafty and lonely to boot." She paused and tilted her head thoughtfully. "How much power do I have over you with my storytelling?"

Menace suddenly exploded around him though he remained absolutely still.

"I see." A dangerous wisp of mischief trickled through her, heating her blood. "You know, I could tell of terrible things for a certain devastating, captivating monarch. Wouldn't want that."

"I could slice out your tongue before you could utter the words." His own words fell soft as snowflakes.

She raised her chin. "I could still write of said terrible things."

"And I could slice off your hands, too."

She smiled back, a calculated bearing of teeth. "And I would still think them. And if you sliced out my brain, well then, we're back to having no stories at all. So why don't we bypass this pissing contest and get straight to reasonable terms?"

There was merriment in his eyes suddenly, and an unmistakable appreciation. "And what if I'm enjoying this pissing contest?"

She rolled her eyes, the tension evaporating as quickly as it had come. "Of course you would." She considered him for a moment. "You like sparring with me, don't you? Been bored?"

A hunger flared in his eyes, and pride like an iron spike.

She leaned in to rest her elbows on the splintered armrest of his makeshift throne. "More than a bit, then. But why me in particular? Surely with you looking more like David Bowie than ever - I mean, have you seen _The Hunger_'s shower scene?" She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, watching recognition slide across his face. "You have, then. Good. But surely given that, you'd have plenty of willing volunteers for the position of goblin court storyteller. Particularly if there's more than one Scheherazade component."

He sighed softly. "None of them have Memory's seed."

The vulnerability in the sigh surprised her, and made her place her hand over his before she thought better of it. "What precisely is that? Your goblins mentioned it before."

He turned his hand over to hold hers. "That...is powerfully useful information." His gloved fingers began to stroke her palm. "I propose terms for our arrangement. You will remain with us, amuse us, and tell us stories of all kinds, restoring us to our former glory. For every satisfactory story you tell, I will give you a piece of information about Memory's seed and your relationship to it."

She pursed her lips and attempted to extricate her hand. "Your offer leaves something to be desired."

His grip was a leather vise around her wrist. "So make a counteroffer."

"Ah, so we're negotiating."

"Always."

"I see." She stroked one finger contemplatively over the exposed skin of his wrist, measuring the effect this had on him. "Alright. I will meet you once a month to amuse you and tell you stories. Amusement, I should note," she looked pointedly at him, "consists only of things I willingly consent to."

He reflected on this, his eyes following her finger in its rhythmic caress. "Willing consent, hmmm?"

"Yes."

There was a certain mischievous fire in his eyes when he looked back up at her, as if a gauntlet had been thrown. "Willing consent is acceptable. Do continue."

_Should have known. Ah well, in for a penny..._"In return, for every story I tell that is found to be satisfactory, you will tell me a true piece of information about Memory's seed that I find to be satisfactory. So no 'it begins with an M' or any such nonsense." She paused, considering him. "Actually, let's make it one satisfactory piece of truthful information of my choosing for every satisfactory story." She smiled wryly. "Why restrict ourselves?"

"Why indeed?" His voice rolled out like warm honey, deliberate and dangerous.

She ignored the chills that rippled along her skin. "Agreed or no, your majesty?"

He laughed suddenly and nodded. "Agreed on the exchange." His gloved fingers trailed across her palm again. "You will meet us every other day, however."

"Twice a month."

"Once a week."

"Only if you promise proper refreshments. I've got a thirst right now like you wouldn't believe."

His smile was rapacious. "As do we. Agreed, then. You will come to us every Saturday, starting two days hence."

She narrowed her eyes. "That'll be twice this week."

"And won't it be just delightful?" It was impossible to ignore the blatantly hopeful looks of the goblins surrounding him.

She sighed. "Fine, fine..."

"So pacted." Chiming not-bells tinkled just out of hearing as he drew her hand to him and brushed a kiss across the top of it.

She was unapologetic in her enjoyment of that little maneuver, which clearly pleased him. "So then, how exactly do I find you on Saturdays if I'm not tripping through enchanted portals in goth clubs?"

His grin was positively toothsome. "We'll find you."

She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head. "Any particular time?"

"When the mood strikes us."

"You enjoy being this irritatingly mysterious, don't you?"

"To you especially." A jovial light danced in his eyes. "Let's say that the mood will most likely strike us at one in the afternoon. Now," his hand made a graceful flourish, "off you go till Saturday. We look forward to what you'll have for us then."

"I'm sure. Any requests I should prepare for?"

"Surprise us."

A soft, creaky goblin voice piped up. "But if it happens to involve a good ale-"

"-or a hot tub-" interrupted another.

"-riding horseback at sunrise-" added a third.

And the flood gates opened.

"-a game of dice-"

"-a circus-"

"-a swinging candelabra, and songs-"

"-true love-"

"-pirates-"

"-a trebuchet-"

"-talking flowers-"

"-penguins-"

"-marbles-"

"-a pedicure-"

She held up her hands to stymie the cascading whispers. "I'll see what I can do." She inclined her head in a slight bow and turned towards the door. "Until Saturday, dear horde."

Lightning flashed and the room was abruptly empty, leaving only the lingering echo of goblin voices overlaid with the rich velvety tones of their king. "Until Saturday, dear lady."


	3. Reflections

**Reflections**  
_Sarah comes across an interesting artifact related to the goblin king._

* * *

"And with their lower legs and toes in the tantalizing throes of a pedicure (at long last!) properly performed," here there was a chorus of grateful sighs and soft moans, "the goblin horde collectively decided to have a well-earned nap before planning their next adventure."

After a few moments, gentle snores permeated the throne room. It wasn't quite as gratifying as the usual thunderous applause, but it was decidedly more peaceful than when Sarah had first arrived to tell the horde their weekly tale. She noted with approval that many legs were slightly less twisted than before. _More symmetric limbs for the win._

With a smile (which was admittedly rather smug), she turned to face Jareth. "And now, my payment, if you please."

Jareth surveyed the slumbering horde with a relieved and somewhat paternal air. "Well-earned." He offered her his arm. "Shall we exit the throne room, so as not to disturb them?"

"Do let's." She linked her arm through his in now companionable familiarity. A very self-satisfied part of herself noted that the goblins weren't the only ones whom her words had had a pleasing effect on.

Soon they were strolling along the hallway that led to the library. "I admit," he said, "I was wondering when you'd fit that pedicure request in. They've been clamoring for it for ages."

"Mmm, poor creatures - a good pedicure is notoriously difficult to come by. That's why it clearly had to come from the generosity of their king, of course."

Amusement flowed warmly from him, almost palpable. "Of course. Quite fitting, as surely I know all about pedicures."

Laughter danced in her eyes. "Well, you do now, don't you? Most convenient."

"Rather. I make it a rule never to disdain knowledge of any kind."

"Which," she noted as they stepped into the library, "explains the ridiculous state of this room."

"And what's so ridiculous about this room?"

"Other than it's stuffed to the gills with books, gadgets, and mismatched bits of treasure in complete disarray? Nothing, really. Though how do you manage to find anything?"

A wry grin flashed at her. "Perhaps in addition to your storytelling, you might consider lending your organizational skills to us."

She snorted softly. "Have you seen my house and office? I mean, really. Unless any of this can be digitized. Or perhaps if there were some sort of magical index..." She cast a keen glance at him. "Are you perhaps trying to put in another story request yourself, your majesty?"

"Would I do that?"

"In a pixie heartbeat." A fond smile crept across her lips as they continued their stroll through the cavernous room. "Request duly noted. But really, let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's recompense owed for today's tale."

A sudden not-tingling along her skin stopped her in front of a shadowed alcove. The velvet curtain that was nestled in it, amidst all the other eye-catching oddments of the library, looked thoroughly innocuous. Sarah knew her way around a glamour by this point in her ongoing arrangement with the Goblin King and his horde, and so immediately recognized the _nothing-to-see-here-move-along-tra-la-la_ aura emitting from said curtain. She also noted how Jareth's eyes focused pointedly away from it in a recognizable attention-deflection move. Therefore, quite naturally, she yanked the velvet to the side to see what all the fuss was about.

An arresting portrait of a decidedly younger goblin king in three-quarters profile looked somewhat poutily back at her. His patrician features were showcased, the ice blue of one eye sparking with curiosity and a subtle challenge. She scrutinized it for a moment, and then turned back to Jareth, whose expression was perfectly blank.

"Alright, this. Tell me all about it."

"That has little to do with Memory's seed."

"Little, but not nothing? More intriguing by the second."

His expression turned stony, and he remained silent.

She raised her eyebrows. "Is it or is it not the case that your beloved subjects are no longer destroying the throne room with their enthusiastic reenactments of prior stories?"

His voice was frost itself. "It is the case."

"And why is that?"

"They were lulled into blessed quiescence."

"By?"

"By your latest story."

"Precisely. A very satisfactory story. And as our agreement clearly involves fair trade for services rendered," she made a gimme gesture with her hands, "pony up, your majesty. I choose this picture for you to tell me all about."

"_Insufferable_." The word was muttered under his breath.

"But in fact with excellent hearing."

Amused recognition flared briefly in his eyes. "It was a term of endearment."

"Of course it was. It always is when I say it to you. Now give."

He looked at it for a long moment. "Well, what do you want to know about it?"

"Mmm...begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end: then stop."

He smiled in spite of himself. "I should bring you up on copyright infringement. The King of Hearts will be wanting his lines back."

"They're public domain, your majesty, and you know it. Stop stalling."

"Well, then...you know of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_?"

"Of course. Required reading for at least one of my English lit classes."

"Let's just say Oscar Wilde was good at embellishing on an existing framework." He cast a canny look at her. "Rather like another storyteller I know."

She rolled her eyes. "Not that again. You try coming up with an engaging story about goblins and their king every week with no help. Especially when there's a fanfiction treasure trove out there just begging to be plumbed."

A hint of adversarial approval at her riposte flickered across his features.

She snorted softly even as her lips twitched in a half-smile. "Now, back to your story, your majesty. So this picture is a Dorian Gray-esque picture. How much of a Dorian Gray-esque picture? It looks pretty unsullied. Also, younger than you, rather than older. Also vaguely... reproachful."

"Yes," he looked thoughtfully at the portrait, "he disapproves of how I've been leading my life lately. That accounts for the sulking."

"And what have you been doing that he so disapproves of?"

A rueful smile glittered for a moment. "Being patient. He prefers a shorter timeline overall."

"For what?"

"Everything. He has an impetuous streak and...what you might call impulse control issues."

Her eyebrows raised at that. "So what is he? You're talking about him as if he's a separate person."

His eyes flashed with a peculiar mixture of satisfaction and regret. "He's a reflection. Created by a rather talented painter in exchange for a service."

"You do so enjoy bartering. So what did you do for this painter? Did your horde threaten him with annihilation, too? Is that the part that has to do with Memory's seed?"

He clearly was savoring her piqued curiosity. "Tsk, tsk - it might, but that's another story, I'm afraid. You only told us one today. Unless you'd like to offer another? Perhaps that magical index?"

"Check back with me next week. Alright, so let's stick with the painting then. It's a reflection. Why is it younger than you? Didn't Dorian Gray remain young while his portrait aged?"

"He did. And so I remain at the same age while my portrait does not."

"And he gets younger instead of older because...?"

A slight grimace twisted his features. "A minor squabble with the Fates. Their idea of fitting payback. '_So you learn not to tease others about their differences_'," he mimicked in a sanctimonious tone. "No sense of humor."

She looked at him for a long moment, taking that in. "You age backwards," she said slowly, considering those implications. "Or you would, if not for that picture."

His shrug was an elegant study of nonchalance. "Since then, yes."

"I see. That's just...odd. Benjamin Button odd, to be precise."

His lips quirked. "F. Scott Fitzgerald agreed with you."

She snorted softly. "Should have known. Where do you get off ribbing me for borrowing inspiration when you've inspired several notable authors yourself?"

"You're so enjoyable to tease, dear storyteller." His eyes sparkled with amusement and a clear taunting.

She rolled her eyes again. "Sometimes I really want to hit you, your majesty."

"I know. You should try it sometime." There was a very suggestive purr beneath his words.

The portrait's lips flicked in an approving smile.

She looked pointedly at the portrait. "So he approves of that, does he?"

"He just might." His soft laughter draped along her skin like something alive.

She blinked hard, firmly ignoring the sensation. "So he reflects what, your darker nature? Because sometimes, rest assured, it's dark enough on its own."

That invoked a smile brilliant as a sunrise. "Such a compliment. But something like that, yes. It's as if he were a watcher sitting in on my inner thoughts that everyone can see when they look at this portrait."

"Ah," she nodded, "so that's why you keep it hidden. Don't want everyone to read you like that?"

"Quite. I value some semblance of privacy."

"Quite understandable. I know I wouldn't like it if it were me. I imagine no one but you, me, and the painter knows about it?"

"Indeed. And the painter has long since passed on."

She grinned suddenly, drawing on the omnipresent curl of mischief that had been strengthening ever since she had first signed on as the horde's storyteller. "I probably won't tell the goblins if you're nice to me."

His expression changed to fond superiority. "They wouldn't know what to make of it anyway. But I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from checking it yourself." There was a tantalizing vulnerability in his voice.

_Because I don't have to_, she realized, _and he couldn't do much about it. Not very fair, that. But who says things have to be fair?_ Her thoughts stalled for a moment. _Me, that's who_. She turned to face him, nodding once. "Of course."

"Thank you." There was a new warmth underlying the mischief, merriment, and machination she so often found in his expression. "Now, I believe our time is nearly spent for today, and you've had your fair compensation for services currently rendered. Shall I escort you back home?"

She smiled back at him. "I'd like that, your majesty. But if we could take a pass on that mirror travel business, that would be just dandy."

"You don't like it?" A subtle thread of wounded pride was hidden beneath the nonchalance.

"It's exceptionally clever and beautiful, my dear king. But it also gives me exceptional vertigo."

"I'll catch you if you fall. As a dear king ought." He clearly enjoyed the new modifier on his title.

She arched an eyebrow knowingly. "I'm sure you would, being a proper dear king and all. But I'd like to be able to stand up under my own power just the same. How about that flying carpet we took the other day? That was a riot."

He inclined his head. "As you wish."

She inclined her head back. "I do, thank you."

"Shall we, then, lady storyteller?" He offered his arm.

She took it. "Do let's, your majesty."


	4. Lines Between

**Lines Between**

_The implications of a particular song have repercussions._

* * *

It was 12:59pm, and Sarah hummed the melancholy stretch of melody to herself as she searched through David Bowie mp3s on iTunes. With a click, the seventh track of _Heathen_ was playing, and the downtempo thrummings of _I Would Be Your Slave_ lilted.

"Ha! That's it." She smiled triumphantly to herself, pleased to finally exorcise that brainbug from her mind. "I knew I recognized that bit."

The Goblin King's presence suddenly crackled behind her like lightning. His voice was deft as an assassin's blade. "What are you listening to?"

She turned to face him. It was vaguely obscene how much menace was sunk into the resonant syllables of that simple query, and she was about to express that thought aloud when she paused, regarding him silently.

Somehow, despite it being a brilliantly sunshine-y afternoon the likes of which happily-ever-afters were made of, the shadows of her home office swirled around him like slick pools of demonic malice. She blinked very slowly, and opted for simplicity in her response. "It's a song from a 2002 David Bowie album."

"And why exactly might you be listening to it?"

His words were like ice chips floating on a glacier river, and she noted that frost tendrils had appeared at the corners of the window.

Bowie's gentle baritone twisted between them. "_Do you laugh out loud at me? No one else..._"

Jareth's expression chilled further.

Simple. Keep it simple until she knew what the hell was going on. She met his gaze, doing her best not to flinch."It's been in my head."

His smile was hard, his teeth glittering like snow. "I'm sure it has." The shadows surged, their hidden fangs gnashing. "You said to me you would not look at the portrait. You lied."

"The hell I did!" She took a breath, sublimating her righteous indignation into stiff formality, and held his gaze. "I deeply resent that accusation, your majesty."

"Then explain why you are listening to that very song."

She gritted her teeth, her nostrils flaring. "What very song? What does that song have to do with your portrait?"

His gaze sliced at her, measuring her indignant demeanor. But he said nothing.

Bowie's silky baritone cut through the silence again. "_Open up your heart to me. Show me all you are..._"

It bolstered her courage somewhat, and she raised her eyebrows. "Well?"

After a moment's more scrutiny, he seemed to come to a favorable decision, and both the demon shadows and frost dissolved to nothing in a blink. He bowed slightly to her and sat down in a nearby chair. "My apologies. I should have known you wouldn't break your word."

"Damned right I wouldn't." She took a steadying breath. "Now what was all that about?"

"First tell me why you're listening to that song, if you would."

"It's my honor that just got besmirched here. You answer my question first."

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded once. "I thought you had broken your word to me-"

She snorted. "Clearly."

"-and were you using the portrait's insights to manipulate me. It made me...ornery."

She eyed him. "That was 'ornery'? With the glowering soul-eating darkness and glacial doom?"

He smiled benignly at her, displaying just a hint of teeth.

"Never mind...well, suffice it to say you've fulfilled your vengeful god quota for the afternoon. And I'll keep it in mind that vengeful gods are a mite tetchy about being manipulated."

He inclined his head courteously. "Much obliged, my honorable lady. And now, if you would relay how you came to be listening to that song?"

She shrugged. "Bits and pieces of it have been appearing in my dreams all week. I finally had enough of the refrain to pinpoint which song it was."

"_I don't sit around and wait. I don't give a damn._" There seemed to be an understated laughter in Bowie's words that she hadn't heard before.

"I see." Jareth closed his eyes briefly, and a soft sigh of frustration escaped. "Would that one could throttle portraits."

"It's his doing?"

"I would assume. He's been humming that blasted song for the last ten days and looking intolerably smug about it for the last seven. Hence my deduction about you."

"Hmph. What's so special about this song?"

"Nothing, as far as I can tell." He frowned in irritation. "It's a standard yearning, devil-take-you-wait-I-want-you sort of thing. Good melody, but not one of Bowie's better pieces in my opinion. The _Labyrinth_ soundtrack certainly had a bit more life in it, and I quite liked the aggressiveness in _Earthling_."

She arched an eyebrow. "You know about Bowie's work?"

His lips curved in a wry smile. "When one starts being shifted into a rock persona, one does one's due diligence and learns about that rock persona's oeuvre."

She smiled back, warmed by the humor in his eyes. "Quite sensible. Meanwhile, back to your intrusive portrait. So, what? He's sending a message with that song? Telegraphing his not-all-that-nefarious desires to me? Which happen to conveniently be yours as well?"

A quiet snarl trickled out. "And gloating about it, the meddlesome wretch."

"You did mention his impulse control issues."

"How he managed to connect to your subconscious though...that troubles me. That's novel."

"Something to do with Memory's seed, maybe? You mentioned that played a part in his creation. And you've said it's part of my ancestry."

"That it is." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his thigh.

_And a fine, well-proportioned thigh it is_. She pointedly looked at his face. "You should really explain more about that, by the way. If I knew more, I could help you ponder."

His eyes flashed merrily. "You should really tell more stories to the horde first in order to get more of that explanation. This is a barter system after all." He paused, listening to the current words being sung.

"_I would give you all my love. Nothing else is free..._"

He spread his hands. "You see? Master Bowie agrees. Tit for tat as a general rule."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Of course. Story for story, it is."

"Speaking of..."

"Right - they'll be waiting. I've got a good one today about the King of Winter and a trebuchet."

"Another king? Tsk."

"No one ever said it was another king, your frosty tetchy majesty." Her lips quirked with mischief.

"Noted." There was a definite fondness in his eyes. "And I suppose it's too much to hope that this tale also involves that magical filing system for the library."

"Perhaps. But you never know. You'll have to listen to find out."

"Tragic. How we royalty do suffer."

"If we wait too much longer, it's your throne room that will suffer. Do you remember that mess with the chickens?"

A rueful smile flickered. "Which one?"

"Exactly."

"Perhaps we should be off." He offered his hand.

She placed hers on it. "Do let's, your majesty."


	5. Expository Bonds

**Expository Bonds**

_In which some small explanations are forthcoming._

* * *

"And after the successful breaching of the Tsukumogami walls, it was clearly time to celebrate with the long-heralded Winter soup. Which they all did, after several newly liberated tureens volunteered their services. The end."

Uproarious applause and whistles followed this pronouncement, and Sarah bowed with a flourish from the dais. After about ten seconds of this (goblin attention spans were dwindling a bit these days), the horde broke into groups to begin their reenactment of the tale.

Sarah turned with a satisfied sigh and noted the new chair directly next to Jareth's. It was a more compact rendition of his, slightly less opulent but with appropriately squishy cushions and sufficient space to lounge comfortably sideways while surveying the horde.

There was a decided sparkle in Jareth's eye as he watched her appraising it.

After a moment, she bobbed a jaunty curtsy at him and sat down. When they both turned sideways to face each other at the exact same moment, stretching backwards and draping their legs over their respective chair arms, a burst of laughter escaped her.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I can't tell who's mirroring whom here. I mean, down to which leg is propped up." She gently tapped her right foot to his left.

"They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, particularly when it comes to body language." A roguish smile flickered. "Clearly, you're warming to me."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, it's clearly me. Because I never lounge like this of my own accord. In every single chair ever."

"Indeed. And I clearly do all the time. Which you would know if you visited more."

She snorted softly. "Insufferable."

"But charmingly so."

She smiled in spite of herself. "So say you."

"So say you, lady storyteller. The king of your story today was a decided charmer, right down to the impeccable fashion sense. I'm expecting my closets to sprout an abundance of linen handkerchiefs in the near future."

She shrugged. "What can I say? I like that side of you. I like to tell about it."

"I like hearing about it." His smile was a secret thing, full of truth and warmth.

Her chest expanded suddenly as she felt the heat of that smile penetrate. "Convenient that we have a standing storytelling agreement, then."

"Most."

The cacophony of the goblins' reenactment broke through then, with roars and squeals of resounding joy. Sarah and Jareth sprawled in companionable silence as they watched the goblins build a makeshift trebuchet for their designated King of Winter, who was striding around in a hastily cobbled circlet of polished chicken bones and attempting to look elegantly intimidating.

Jareth's foot tapped hers. "Quite clever to work in the trebuchet, the King of Winter, and the library's origins. All those poor little sentient artifacts, huddling together, so grateful for my protection. Heart-warming, really."

She tapped his foot back. "You can thank Cat Valente's _Fairyland_ series for the Tsukumogami inspiration."

"Giving official credit this time - how generous of you."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You've been known to be quite generous yourself."

"Ah, but I can be cruel, as well." There was a flash of taunting in his eyes, even as his Cheshire cat grin stretched.

"Right, speaking of...I've been meaning to ask since you mentioned you're fond of the Labyrinth soundtrack earlier: How is it that Henson's _Labyrinth_ happened before our first meeting? I've always wondered - actually, I nearly had an aneurism when I first saw it afterwards, and it certainly contributed to my headlong escape into Tolkien fandom. The movie's clearly not an exact rendition, but it's damned close."

His smile became decidedly puckish. "Is it?"

If she'd had librarian glasses, she would have peered over them. "More singing and glitter, granted - it was the 80s, David Bowie was playing the goblin king - but all in all...yes, yes it was. Certainly the core themes and roles. Also some of the exact words. Honestly, 'Just do as I say and I will be your slave' to a fifteen-year-old girl? It's a good thing you were scarier than Bowie, or who knows what might have happened..." She shook her head. "And sweet heavenly monkeys, how did I not see that movie beforehand-"

"-I may have had something to do with that-"

"-I mean, how did no one ever tell me about the uncanny resemblance between my particular brand of teenage moping and that Sarah's?" She paused. "Nice to have my role played by Jennifer Connelly, though. And really, David Bowie did quite a passable rendition of you. Less terrifying, true, but the sex appeal was spot on."

His velvety laughter was soft and thoroughly amused. "I may have had something to do with that, too."

She eyed him, then sighed. "I get the feeling I'm going to have to tell a lot more tales to get the full backstory on this little gem."

"Well, as I'm a magnanimous monarch, I'll give you one for free today."

Her eyebrows jumped. "Generous of you."

He inclined his head gracefully. "In character. So, which two will it be?"

She drummed her fingers, pondering. "The original one about how the movie existed before our encounter, and the one about how I managed never to know about it before said encounter. I'll save your influence over casting decisions for another time."

"Done and done...Have you ever heard the phrase 'Life imitates Art'?"

"Yes...artists dream something and the human collective makes it happen, and so on - there are lots of good examples in science fiction. Going to the moon, for instance, and robots. The internet." She paused, brow furrowed. "But this seems like a rather extraordinary example. It's not just one thing, not just one part of the story. It _is_ the entire story. A monomyth instantiation with far too much precision."

The edges of his smile glittered. "Mmm, monomyth instantiation is rather accurate. Memory's seed is often at the core of such events, and Henson had a strain of it in him."

"Like mine?" It was a gentle probe.

And easily parried. "Not quite. But close enough for creative work. And as with so many things, like attracts like." His foot was quite deliberately playing with hers now.

She jiggled her foot under his when silence fell between them. "And you're going to say more about that instead of playing footsie with me, yes?"

"Instead of? Alas."

She kicked his foot good-naturedly. "Or while playing footsie, if that's what your kingly heart desires. But really, 'like attracts like' is terribly vague."

Approval flickered in his eyes. "Boldness always did become you."

"Says the king playing footsie in broad daylight with his storyteller."

"It doesn't always have to be in broad daylight." A sensual promise curled in those words.

_Hellooooo, nurse..._ "I'm sure it doesn't. But right now it is, and you are undeniably stalling, your majesty."

"Would I do that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fairy. Heartbeat. And I believe we've had this discussion before, so let's skip to the part where you expound on the like-attracts-like nature of me, Henson, and _Labyrinth_."

His grin was a radiant thing of flashing teeth, good humor, and unrepentant mischief. "As you wish."

She blinked at him. "You've read _The Princess Bride_, haven't you?"

"Quite possibly."

"Does that little phrase mean what it does in that story?"

"Quite possibly. Perfectly within monomyth tradition really, if it did. Especially your instantiation of it."

She felt the blood rise to her cheeks as she became very aware of both his stark beauty and his proximity. "About that. Give."

He steepled his fingers, holding her gaze. "How to put this succinctly...Henson combining those particular elements was indirectly due to me, courtesy of his thread of Memory's seed. Your enactment of it is due to your own core of Memory's seed. The echoes of Henson's story resonated through you."

She considered this for a moment. "That...is remarkably unclear."

His lips twitched sardonically. "Perhaps an analogy, then. Think of those who hold Memory's seed as tuning forks of different kinds. A story from the right source is like a particularly pure tone, capable of causing one to resonate and emit a tone that ignites another."

She squinted one eye at him. "Tones don't make tuning forks vibrate. Striking them does."

"I never said it was a good analogy."

She rolled her eyes, and resisted the urge to throw a cushion at him. "Okay, going with this less-than-ideal analogy, how did you generate the original tone that ignited Henson's _Labyrinth_, which then ignited me?"

"Do you want to know that or how you escaped knowledge of Henson's _Labyrinth_ before our first encounter? I offered two answers for today's tale, not three."

"Right, of course." She closed her eyes, raising her palms to press against her forehead as she muttered, "Damn temptacious goblin kings."

"With excellent hearing." Laughter slid through his voice. "And this particular temptacious goblin king may be willing to offer additional terms for information. Time, for instance. Spent here. With us."

She cracked an eye. "No additional stories required?"

"Merely your presence."

"I already spend every Saturday here. How much more do you want?"

"Consider Sundays, for instance. Each Sunday your amiable presence graces us, I'll tell you an additional piece of information of your choice."

Her eyes narrowed. "My presence has to be amiable? How precisely is that determined?"

His grin was very wide. "That would be up to my discretion."

She snorted. "Far too many gaping holes in that one. Thanks, but no."

He shrugged. "Can't blame a temptacious goblin king for trying."

"True enough. Expected, really."

"Would you accept if it was simply your physical presence that was required on Sundays?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I might. I would certainly consider it."

"If you accepted now, you might get that third answer you're so interested in. Tomorrow night, of course."

She looked at him for a long moment before muttering, "Temptacious. Goblin. Kings."

He made an elegant flourish with his hands. "As requested."

Her lips twitched. "So if I accepted, you'd come find me tomorrow as well? The usual way?"

"Or you could simply stay the night here. Plenty of spare rooms. And I know how you dislike the vertigo of mirror travel. A tragic necessity ever since the horde unraveled all the magic carpets for one of their little story reenactments."

She made a face. "I should never have told them about that raging river of yarn and thread."

There was laughter in his eyes, and a certain taunting. "What's said is said."

She sighed. "Isn't it always? Alright, so let's be clear: for every Sunday I spend with you, starting tomorrow, I get a piece of information of my choosing."

He nodded.

"And since I'm already here Saturdays, I can just stay over in one of the spare rooms here."

He nodded again. "Wherever you like in the castle."

She noted that particular wording and its possibilities, tucking it away for later contemplation. "And Sunday night, I get my information nugget and head back Aboveground. Home." It bothered her vaguely that _Home_ was the second description that had popped out, rather than the first.

His eyes sparked with something feral and very pleased with itself. "As you wish."

A shiver of anticipation caught her by surprise, and she blinked, shaking her head forcefully. "Stop that, please."

He flashed a merry grin, slipping back easily into his companionable teasing. "As you wish."

She stared at him for a moment and then hurled a cushion at him.

He dodged deftly to the side. "Do we have an agreement?"

"We do, your majesty."

"So pacted, my lady storyteller." The familiar not-chiming of Faerie promises tinkled around them. As they were fading, he solemnly hefted a cushion and hurled it back at her.

She dodged and burst out laughing. "I do like this side of you."

"As do I."

She tossed another cushion at him, which he caught. "Now back to today's answers. How come I never knew anything about _Labyrinth_ before our little adventure?"

He held the cushion on his open palm, as if weighing it. "The simple version is that I had some small power to alter threads of fate and I used it. Repeatedly. Enough to attract the true Fates' attention again." There was a wry twist to his lips as he tossed the cushion back to her. "I suspect your decision to discard us afterwards for the Tolkien fandom was partly due to their influence, actually. They're a touch possessive about fate threads."

"Why bother then? Especially given your previous run-in with the Fates." She tossed the cushion back to him.

He caught it one-handed, and twirled it lazily by a tassel. "I wanted our interaction unsullied. As you said, things were not precisely the same as Henson's rendition."

"Why? What's so special about my enactment of that story?"

"Ah, but that's a different piece of information. And really, I just gave you a partial one for free. You'll have to hold onto this one for later."

She huffed a small breath, shaking her head. "Insufferable."

His smile lit the space between them. "With excellent hearing. Despite the horde's considerable background noise, I might add." He bobbed his foot under hers. "What do you say to a game after they tire themselves out, since you'll be staying with us this evening?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of game?"

"How do you feel about Set?"

She blinked at him. "You like Set?"

"A game of visual perception - how could I not? You do recall the Escher Room."

"I do." She bobbed her foot under his. "I'd be delighted to play you, your majesty."

"I warn you, I'm viciously good at it."

"Of course you are. Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Good, then."


	6. Where It Leads

**Where It Leads**

_In which slightly more explanation is forthcoming as Sarah considers what might have been and what could be, and Jareth helps._

* * *

_"Don't go that way! Never go that way."_

_She abruptly halted, eyes wide. "Why not?"_

_The worm shook his head forcefully, his own eyes wide. "If you keep on going down that way, you'll go straight to that castle."_

_The admonition was clearly well-intentioned. She blinked at him and quickly reviewed how she'd framed her initial question. Ah. The "way through" was not the same as getting to the castle at the center. Tricksy, tricksy._

_ "Thank you very, very much for your help." She turned away to continue in her original direction._

_"But where are you going?" he called after her, sincerely forlorn. "It's not safe that way!"_

The worm had been right - it hadn't been safe. Not that it had mattered.

"Set!" Jareth quickly collected another card triplet.

Sarah snapped to attention. "Gah, blast you!"

"Not a very nice thing to say to your king." His smile, however, was positively gleeful.

She squinted one eye at him in mock consternation. "It's also not very nice to clobber your storyteller six times in a row at Set."

"Seven, actually. I believe that's the last set of this game." He ran a finger across his collected deck of sets, which was piled rather high.

She eyed the lonesome, un-set-able six cards remaining between them and then her own rather short stack of sets, and sighed. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to gloat?"

"No need. Besides, I think my victories here are partially due to your inattention. You nearly won the first few games. The last few, well..." He gathered the cards and began to shuffle them. "What ever have you been thinking about?"

"Maybe you're just that much better than me at Set. Plus ten to pattern matching abilities for being a magical monarch or some such."

His smile was incisive as a blade. "Possibly true. Still, let's skip to the part where you tell me what's got your attention. We magical monarchs tend to be a jealous lot, and typically dislike being ignored." The cards pattered rhythmically against the table. "It's in the handbook and everything."

Her lips twitched. "Handbook?"

"A variant of the Evil Overlord one," he replied as he bridged the deck with dexterous ease, "designed specifically for anti-villain monarchs with tendencies towards Blue and Orange Morality, Magnificent Bastard, and An Offer You Can't Refuse."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Someone's been reading tvtropes."

"A truly excellent resource." The cards spilled from one hand to the other in a liquid motion.

"That it is." Her eyes fixed on the dancing cards. "So you're an anti-villain now? What happened to plain villain?"

"Terribly flat. Anti-villains are much less boring. Sometimes they win, you know, what with the good aims and such. Often their minions are better. Several perks when you think about it." He bridged the deck again, the individual cards rippling down with soft slaps. "I may even aspire to anti-hero one day."

She huffed a soft laugh. "How adaptable of you."

He inclined his head as he flipped cards across the top of his hand in a silky motion. "Meanwhile, what has stolen your attention from me, lady storyteller?"

Her eyes tracked the elegant movements of his fingers over the cards. "I was just remembering differences between my Labyrinth experience and the movie version. The bit with the worm, for instance." She watched the cards slide over his skin. "That expression on your face was pretty hilarious when I traipsed into the throne room on hour two."

His smile stretched full and nostalgic. "It's possible your smirk at my discomfiture inspired me to open the oubliette beneath your feet. Entirely possible, in fact."

"I ended up in the same spot anyway, I suppose. I still can't believe movie-Sarah chose down in the tunnel of hands." She shook her head in disdain. "I mean, what was that? Seriously? Down to the Unknown Pit of Despair or, I don't know, _not_?"

"Mmm, it wasn't a true Pit of Despair, though. A distinct lack of a Machine." The cards arched between his fingers with a whuffling hiss.

"True, but a Humongous Mecha - quite literally according to the script - did make an appearance later." She watched the sinuous movements of his hands in silence for a moment. "If I had chosen down when I actually did hit the hand tunnel, would I have gone back to that oubliette?"

"Perhaps." The cards flowed from one hand to the other in a precise cascade. "Difficult to predict exactly how the pieces weave together in a given rendition, but there's a certain framework that's hewn to so the overall story tastes the same."

She snorted. "Seems like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Smirk at the goblin king in his lair? Turn to page 13, and enjoy your oubliette. Choose down in the talking hand tunnel? Back to page 13 with you. The cowardly Heel-Face Turn dwarf will be along shortly. Have your plastic ready and say hello to the False Alarms on your way out."

His velvety laughter rolled between them in counterpoint to the falling cards. "Well, as you said, your rendition was rather close to Henson's movie. It didn't necessarily have to be."

She raised an eyebrow. "No? How much flexibility did it have?" She paused, trying to find the shape of the right question. "What did it need to have?"

"And that becomes officially delicious and deep information, and it's not even Sunday yet." The cards lay still and silent in his right hand. "Do you have something else to trade for it?"

Her eyes lingered along the line of his hand, open and enticing beneath the deck. "I suppose my wretched loss streak at Set is a no-go?"

"If you had promised beforehand, perhaps. But post facto, I'm afraid not. Perhaps you have another story instead? The library filing system awaits, you know."

She pursed her lips, then shook her head. "No, I need more time to make something good. I don't do things half-assed if I can help it."

He flexed the fingers of his left hand contentedly, resting them on top of the deck. "I know. It's what makes you such a potent storyteller."

"Potent? Interesting word choice."

"Chosen just so. That's my gift to you to assuage your stinging Set defeat. Infer what you may from it while we play again, unless you haven't the heart for it."

"I have plenty of heart when my full attention's engaged. Also, perceptual acumen."

"I know." His grin was distinctly rakish as he tilted his head to the side. "Care to place a wager on this round?"

She tilted her head to mirror him. "And what might that be?"

"If I win, I choose which room you sleep in tonight."

She blinked slowly at him. "And if I win?"

"You choose."

Heartbeats passed. "Well, it's a direct approach to resolving some of this omnipresent sexual tension. I take it your portrait's been an influence."

"Good or bad?"

"Currently unclear. Depends on exactly how direct you intend to be. Also on the implications of that Blue and Orange Morality tendency of yours. As someone who operates along the gray scale of morality, I find that a touch worrisome."

He caressed the edge of the top card in a languid, sensual motion. "As you can see, I intend to be very direct."

She licked her lips, eyes riveted to his finger. "And as you can see, you have my full attention. The morality qualms?"

"You'll have to discern the Blue and Orange Morality implications yourself."

"Or I could just win and put off that task till later."

"True, but you'd have to actually win our little game, wouldn't you?"

"I would. Though losing is starting to look pretty good, implications be damned." Her imagination was supplying very detailed pictures of what those dexterous fingers could do. "This is a Magnificent Bastard thing, isn't it?"

"I did tell you of my tendencies."

"You did. Audacious, clever, and ultimately devious. Very MB."

"I hear they're excellent in bed, too."

She squinted one eye at him. "I don't remember that being a necessary attribute."

Amusement flickered across his face. "For you, how could it not be?"

She squinted the other eye at him, though her voice came out a bit breathier than intended. "You know me so well, do you?"

"Better and better all the time." Both thumbs rubbed slowly across the top card, drawing her gaze again.

She took a slow breath. "Must like what you see."

"More and more every time I see you." The truth in those words was a slow burn, heating the air between them.

"What if the feeling isn't mutual?"

"Why lie to your very own Magnificent Bastard? Besides, you're wretched at lying."

Her lips twitched. "The curse of the Good alignment. Also, you're _my_ MB now, are you?"

"Depends on the outcome of our game, if you agree to the wager." His wolfish smile was slick with promise. "Your play, my lady storyteller."

"Hmph...wager accepted, MB. If you would care to deal?"

He began to flick cards deftly onto the table. "I'm not sure that moniker shows the appropriate amount of respect."

"It's a term of endearment."

"I know. That was to distract you. Set."

"Gah! You tricksy bastard." She couldn't help her smile as he dealt three more cards between them.

"Magnificent bastard, actually. Set."

"I'm so dealing next time. Set!"

"You do that. Set."

* * *

Several minutes later, she looked at their stacks of collected sets. "Tied. Now what?"

"Again? Or we could both declare victory."

"We can't both get to choose where I sleep tonight."

"We can if we agree."

"Very true."

He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on hers. "Do we?"

She let his scent run over her, enjoying that curiously electric meld of vanilla, frost, midnight, and green. "Wherever it is, together?"

"That would be the one."

"Done."

"And done." The not-chimes of Faerie promises tinkled around them both.

A playful smile stole across her lips as she leaned closer to him, channeling Vizzini from _The Princess Bride_."No more rhymes now - I mean it."

A wicked grin of recognition and taunting appeared. "Anybody want a peanut?" The syllables rolled out luxuriously resonant.

"There is something terribly wrong about making that sound sexy."

"Terribly wrong is just one more service we offer." His mouth just in front of hers was like wildfire. And shadows. And extremely dangerous things with sharp and pointy teeth.

It was terribly exciting. _With, perhaps, emphasis on the "terribly"_, she thought. Even with her eyes half-closed, she saw the darkness around them grow thick and lustrous with beckoning.

"Classic seduction," she murmured into his mouth. "I'll most likely regret this."

"I won't." His tongue licked along her upper lip, and she very suddenly had no attention left to spare for anything but the hot immediacy of him.


	7. Pieces

**Pieces**

_In which there are consequences for Sarah and Jareth's nocturnal escapades, but only Sarah is surprised._

* * *

It was, quite simply, a very interesting - and thoroughly enjoyable - night. Magical monarchs clearly had a leg up in the sex department. Often literally.

Sarah traced the line of Jareth's chest as she lay curled into him, watching the reflection of his skin on hers. "You know, afterglow is typically a metaphorical expression."

A deep chord of laughter rumbled through him. "Look who's talking."

She froze, and then pulled her hand away from him, scrutinizing it. _Hot damn. _That luminescence wasn't just a reflection. It was almost a pulse, the glow gently rising and falling in time to her heartbeat, shimmering just beneath the skin.

It should have been alarming. Quite alarming, in fact. She tried very hard to summon an appropriate amount of panic and angst for several long moments.

It simply wouldn't come.

_Pretty, said her mind. Very pretty. Tra la la._ There was a definite burbling joy in those thoughts that was...unusual. The last time she'd experienced that particular flavor of effervescence, she'd been riding a ridiculously pronounced sugar high. _(Weeeeeeeee - shiny!)_

She shook her head. _Okay, enough of that. _Her hand dropped back to his chest. "I should probably be more concerned about this."

"But?"

"But I'm singularly unmotivated at the moment. It's rather nice to match you." She kissed the join of his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

Satisfaction flared in his half-closed eyes as he traced a light circle over her shoulder blade. "Then I probably shouldn't bother tempting you with knowledge of the why of it."

"Nah, tempt away." She nipped at his skin, tasting salt and wintergreen. "I'll just add it to the list." The sing-song overtones were humming something in the back of her mind. It was a sparkle and flick of...a suggestion. "I don't suppose you do loans?"

He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "How so?"

_(Such pretty eyes so close)_, burbled one sing-song voice, _(owl and fox and wolf and man all together.)_ She blinked slowly, climbing past the other zinging whispers. "You give me the information I want up front, and I pay you back over time, with interest."

"Interest, you say? Very promising."

"A reasonable amount, though. Something I agree to beforehand. For example, all the Sundays for the rest of my life is probably right out." She paused, squelching the mental chorus that expressed its dismay. "Well, unless the information is detailed enough to warrant it, I suppose."

His eyes flashed bird bright and thoroughly attentive. "And how would you know the information is detailed enough to warrant that interest?"

"Why, I'd probably need a sample up front, I suppose." She smiled at him, feeling the chorus of _(yesyesyesyes)_ singing through her.

His eyes darkened with longing and wariness. "I've seen that smile before. It eventually bodes ill for the viewer."

"And where have you seen it?" A voice zinged a flippant suggestion. "In the mirror?"

"Sometimes." Something unspoken hung from that word, something tangled and deep.

"There's a story to that too, isn't there?" She caressed a finger along the line of his cheek.

He raised a hand to cover hers, capturing it, halting it. "Always." It was almost a warning.

_(Thhhhhbbbbttt)_, pouted the mental chorus. She lifted her chin so that her mouth was a breath from his. "Well then, perhaps now is an excellent time for a pre-loan information sample."

A half-smile flickered at her. "And I'm to trust this isn't just a ploy for free information?"

"Well, of the two of us, who's the self-proclaimed Magnificent Bastard?"

"I'm beginning to wonder."

_(Psssst pssssst)_, whispered another half-voice, _(try this)_. She blinked slowly again. "You could give me something that's worth today at least. I've already agreed to stay till tonight, so it would just move the information trade forward half a day or so." Her lips curled into a wicked smile showing teeth. "Give me something good, MB, and we'll negotiate."

He smiled as he kissed her, a soft and growly thing full of possession. "Are you quite sure you don't have latent Magnificent Bastard tendencies?"

She pulled at his lower lip with her teeth, eliciting a thoroughly satisfying snarl that rippled down her spine. "There something about this glow I should know about maybe? Or that smile you've seen in the mirror?"

He drew back and rubbed a thumb slowly across her shoulder. "Maybe there is. Would you accept something about that as your sample?"

"Better make it juicy if it's supposed to tempt me to give up all my Sundays forever to you."

"Is that a yes?"

_(Yesyesyesyesyes)_, harmonized the mental voices joyfully. She blinked slowly. "Yes."

"Well then, I'll see what I can do."

There was a sudden intake of breath, hushed and anticipatory. It had come from somewhere beyond the bed.

Sarah looked at Jareth.

Jareth looked terrifying.

He was preternaturally still, the all-too-familiar hungry shadows and demonic pools of malice suddenly dripping off him like cold, enveloping silk. A thread of it slid along his thumb to her shoulder in a thoroughly intimate caress, and she shivered even as the burbling mental voices purred. "Um," she whispered, "can you _not_ do that?"

"Hush." His voice was like a dagger, his muscles deceptively relaxed. "Show yourselves."

There was a clatter, followed by several hisses of a decidedly goblin variety. Two figures appeared slowly at the foot of the bed, their forms indistinct in the half-light.

Jareth's features were an imperious mask as the shadows stretched forward, though his body relaxed. "Explain yourselves."

The first figure swallowed hard, holding a rather nice-looking top hat and linen handkerchief in his hands as he stepped forward. "We meant no disrespect, your majesty, we-"

"Stop." Jareth closed his eyes for a moment, his cold silken aura retracting a hair's breath. "Why are you holding my top hat and handkerchief and wearing a blonde wig?"

The goblin swallowed again, shifting his eyes away. "Just trying to get the details right, your highness."

"Of?" The hungry shadows were melting away now, and a certain well-worn exasperation tripped through Jareth's voice.

"Why, the courtship, of course, your highness." The goblin blinked, as if this were obvious.

The other figure stepped forward then, a goblin in a red sparkly dress and a long dark-haired wig. He was nodding vigorously. "It's a very important story! Needs to be told right."

Jareth closed his eyes and took a measured breath. Several very silent moments passed.

"Not as dense as you thought, are they?" Sarah whispered.

"I will find a way to _murder_ that portrait. This is all his doing." He opened his eyes and looked at the goblins. "Do I even want to know why you're wearing that ensemble?"

The second goblin sniffed reprovingly. "Artistic license. Fancy dress ball's much more romantic than card games for a courtship."

Sarah clamped down hard on a desperate giggle that had too many sing-song voices behind it. "Speak for yourself. That was some mighty fine handwork from his majesty."

The first goblin was reproachful. "Well, we didn't get to see it properly, did we? Had to skulk in the shadows just to get a glimpse." He grumbled, half to himself, "Best story, and we have to get it piecemeal."

Jareth's eyes flashed, slick and dangerous. "So this isn't the first time you've trespassed tonight?"

Both goblins gulped loudly, together, and trembled. The first goblin's voice came soft and forlorn, almost pleading. "We've been waiting so long, your majesty. We've missed the Lady."

There was an unmistakable capital in that word, and Sarah looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean? I'm here every week."

"Yes," the second goblin chirped, "but now you're closer than ever-" He cut off with a small shriek as ice tendrils snapped around him.

Sarah glanced at Jareth, who was wearing a look of controlled fury. And the hungry shadows were back, layered and reaching.

"Closer to what?" Sarah whispered into the brittle silence.

Jareth's voice was razor wire, echoing with too many chittering, hissing, edged notes. "_Get out_."

The top-hatted goblin unbowed his head for a moment, giving Sarah a deliberate look. "Take the loan, my lady. Stay with us." And then his courage apparently fled, since he turned abruptly and dragged the other goblin skittering away.

The shadows lurched forward to bite. There was a terrified screech before glacier cold settled, the shadows writhing around the bed.

Sarah turned towards Jareth and spoke softly. "It's just me now. Can you reign in the vengeful god attributes?"

He was frozen, menacing.

She touched his chest, the skin above his heart where their glows are rising and falling so fast together. "Jareth?" She lifted her hand to caress his locked jaw. "MB? Look at me."

His eyes turned to her, and the sing-song chorus fluttered in satisfaction, humming pleased chords of recognition. (_Fierce and prickly love._)

He looked at her, their glowing skin reflecting off each other, and the shadows receded.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, tracing circles on his chest for quite some time. At last, she spoke. "I'd say you orchestrated that little performance to tip my decision, but that comment about murdering your portrait was genuine. A little forward, is he?"

Silence spilled hard between them.

She refused to let it stay. "Come on now, MB. Let's start with this glow and smile business and go from there. I'll give you an additional Sunday for it right up front." Her fingers slid along the plane of his chest, the ridges of his ribs, down to the smooth skin of his stomach with its golden line of hair.

His hand clapped down on hers. "A month of Sundays for information about the glow only."

"Two Sundays."

"Two months of Sundays."

"You're going the wrong direction in this negotiation."

An edge of a smile flashed. "It'll be worth it."

"You're insufferable." There was a relieved fondness in her voice.

A hint of familiar merriment twinkled back. "And with excellent hearing."

"Says you - three Sundays, glow only."

"Three months of Sundays."

"Still going the wrong direction."

"Says you."

She drummed her fingers beneath his. "I'm tempted to hurl things at you again."

"You should. It'd be tension-relieving for us all."

"Us _all_? Who else is here now?"

His eyes traveled slowly over her face. "Depends on how many voices you're hearing now, doesn't it?"

Her breath stopped as the sing-song chorus happily pinged and twirled. _(Hellooooooooooo, darliiiiiiiing. Weeeeeee!)_

"Well, how many is it?"

She swallowed. "A chorus of them. Too many to count."

He nodded. "I thought as much. Three months of Sundays."

"What?"

"Three months of Sundays and I'll tell you about the voices, which are more or less permanent. They're related to the glow, which isn't."

She stared at him, noting his neutral calm and trying hard to hang onto her temper. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

"I suspected. Well?"

"Three months of Sundays." The not-chimes of Faerie promises tinkled softly. "Start talking."

Satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "The voices are like...filaments. They're remnants of the primordial creative power that once resided here with us." He paused, as if holding the words to come against his tongue. "We called her Memory."

She let that roll around for several moments to soft mental peals of (_Like yoooooouuu, but not yooooouuu! But we like yooooooouuuuuuu! Yesyesverymuch. Happy to staystaystay._) "So why did our amorous escapades cause these filaments to find me, when they never have before?"

His lips quirked in a half-smile. "Do you remember I mentioned about like attracting like? I was Memory's Consort. Like a moon to her sun, with my retinue of stars behind me."

"Poetic." (_Always was, fierce love, good with words. Like him, loooove him, and all his little star-lings..._) Sarah tried to hush them. It was like swatting at extremely friendly butterflies. She blinked slowly. "Okay, so these guys are here to stay. Side note: I am _so_ not happy with you about that right now. How do you keep a thought together with their constant buzzing?"

He absently rubbed his thumb along her wrist. "You adapt. They adapt. Though I'd forgotten how excitable these particular ones were. They'll settle."

"Hmph, and the glow?"

"An initial integration side effect."

She moved her hand next to his, watching the rippling glow beneath both their skins. "Ah, so you're hearing them, too. Are they the same ones?"

"Similar most likely. The creative power of these is shared between us, I think."

"Well, do _yours_ sound like an excitable gaggle of schoolgirls with a penchant for shiny things?"

He smiled. "I'd say excitable schoolboys for mine, but yes, that about covers it."

"Schoolboys, eh? Adolescent variety with a one-track mind?"

"The very same."

She shook her head. "Do I even want to know why the primordial creative forces of this mystical pair bond have hijacked the essence of a highschool romance?"

"Mmm, I've always surmised it has to do with intensity of the feelings generated at that time. Biologically, humans of that age are primed to experience thoroughly intense emotions, all out of proportion to true events."

"And that's the most appropriate incarnation for this relationship because...?"

His teeth glinted in the half-light. "They're not out of proportion for us."

(_See? We're appropriate. Veryvery much so. Yes. Appropriate. Fitting. Thbbbbtttt._) Sarah blinked slowly again. "And how long does it take them to settle?"

His soft laughter slid across her, warm and familiar. "You know, I don't actually remember. It's been a long time. We'll know when the glow is gone."

She closed her eyes, and turned into his shoulder so she could inhale the wintergreen scent of him. (_Mmmmm, delicious. Loooove him.) Hush, all of you. _"And what if I don't want it? Any of it. I didn't exactly sign up to be your new goddess."

"Has a nice ring to it, though, doesn't it? _Goddess_." There was a deliberate curl of temptation there, sliding like silk.

She snorted softly. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'I am in _such _deep shit', but sure."

His laughter chimed, amused and knowing. "Yes, well perhaps that, too. But this part is a team effort, at least." His lips pressed against her neck."With definite side benefits."

She kicked him gently. "Do you actually care about me? Or is this just a magnificent consolidation of primordial creation powers for you?"

"Both really ought to be an option. Never miss an opportunity and all." His voice held throaty notes of pleasure that made her want to bury herself in his chest.

(_Yesyeses, do this, doooooo it, weeeee!) Quiet, now._ "Hmph. And what if I were to just give you my filaments?" (_Noooooooooo, we like yoooooou._) _Shhhh!_

"You can't."

"I've got Memory's seed and my half of all this castle's pair bond filaments twining through me right now." She waggled her glowing fingers. "_Can't_ is a funny word for a primordial creative force."

A curious chord of resentment and longing thrummed in his voice. "Both roots can't lie inside me."

"Why not? Have you tried?"

He hissed softly, baring teeth. "Yes."

Silence hung between them, though her mental chorus was burbling with smugness. "That wasn't actually the answer I was expecting."

The air around them chilled, picking up darkness and shadows.

She ignored it, and drummed her fingers against his ribs. "What happened when you tried?"

"Corrupting things. Dangerously so."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Worth hearing about, I take it."

He closed his eyes briefly, and laid his fingers on top of hers to stop their drumming. "Not today."

"This is starting to sound like Tolkien's One Ring. Should I be worried about said corrupting things if I continue this way with you all?" She gave him her best pointed look. "Are there ring wraith issues?"

His smile was laced with a surprising amount of bitterness. "No. It's the other way you'll need to worry about. Become so pure you'll sacrifice yourself for our sake."

(_Don't don't, never do that again, miiiiiiissss you so much, no no._) _Another story there. So many stories._ A heartbeat passed. "Well, clearly that's why you're here. Surely keeping me off the too straight and narrow falls under my MB's purview."

His lips quirked. "Yes, I suppose it does."

"Otherwise you'll have to give back that anti-villain handbook."

"Wouldn't want that. Also, you owe me a month of Sundays for the purity warning."

"I never agreed to that."

His shrug was completely unapologetic. "MB. Would you, though?"

She tilted her head. "Is this the number of Sundays in a typical month, or thirty-ish Sundays?"

Approval rippled behind his eyes. "Which do you want it to be? You already owe me three months for the glow information."

She smiled. "Depends on what I get to do with the previous Saturdays, I suppose."

"Daytimes are still for stories, but the nighttime is open."

"You still want my stories, even after all this?" She held up her hand again, looking at the glow.

"Particularly after all this."

"Why?"

His smile was liquid and fast. "I'll trade you a story for that answer, if you like."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really? After all this, we're still negotiating, too?"

"Always. MB, remember?"

"In-su-ffer-a-ble."

"Especially for you."

She laughed softly into his shoulder, which smelled good enough to sink her teeth into. "You know, I think I might just love you. And at this point, I might as well say it."

"I know. And yes, you should. Often." His smile was utterly brilliant, dispelling all the lingering shadows.

She nipped him on the shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. "And I repeat: Insufferable."

"And yours."

(_Yesyesyesyesyes, loooove him, ours ours ours._) "And mine."


	8. (De)Lightness of Being

**(De)Lightness of Being**

_In which Sarah loses patience, and then there is light, darkness, and name-calling._

* * *

Sarah felt it when Jareth responded to her summons, a slick flurry of anticipation and mildly irritated curiosity in the confines of her bedroom. She didn't bother to lift her head. "When will they settle?" she hissed, holding her ears, her eyes half-shut (as if _that_ could block the omnipresent chattering of the filaments). "I don't know how much more of this I can take." _(What? You like us, we like you, likeyoulikeyoulikeyouuuuuuutralala...) Quiet!_

His ire rose like a storm. "I don't appreciate your tone." The demonic shadows gathered with frighteningly efficient speed, tendrils of burning cold wreathing him. "And _you_," he said with more than a hint of threat, "are twinkling at me. Stop it."

That snapped her eyes fully open. She sat up straight, staring at the glowing nimbus surrounding her. It was, in point of fact, twinkling. After a moment, she crossed her arms. "Well, perhaps if you stopped dripping shadows of demonic malice whenever your temper flared, I wouldn't be inspired to...to _twinkle_ at you." _(So there. Thbbbbbt. Silly prickly love. You tell him.) Hush!_

He raised a rather skeptical eyebrow at her, and cocked his head to the side as if considering something.

Suddenly, the shadowy darkness roared forward.

_Oh, shit_. She flinched, frozen in her chair, watching it howl and lope towards her.

It halted abruptly approximately a foot away, just short of her twinkling nimbus.

She exhaled a choked breath, and watched as tendrils of darkness wound themselves together, concentrating into something that looked like a very large hand. The hand's index finger extended forward with aching slowness until it was level with the floor.

It jerked forward, looking for all the world as if it were poking at the twinkling nimbus.

The nimbus dodged. There was no other word for it. A lightning precision shift of an entire section of the nimbus so that a space opened up the exact size of the giant finger of darkness.

Another opening appeared, the area above and below it stretched unmistakably into a grinning mouth with a very large tongue. A glittering raspberry split the silence.

_I have no words at all for this_, she thought. _Not one. (That's alright - we do! Nyahnyahnyah! Try to push us around? Take that!)_

She watched as the nimbus formed its own hand, and made to slap at the slavering darkness.

The darkness dodged, though by this point, she was getting less surprised about it. The hand of shadows flicked the offending twinkling hand away, and formed a mouth to blow its own raspberry.

There was a certain familiarity to the nature of the interactions, as odd as the implementation was. It was if the twinkling nimbus and the slithering darkness were young children playing with each other. The sort that grew up to be sweethearts.

She turned her attention back to Jareth, eyebrows raised. "What the hell?"

He sat down across from her and rested his chin in his hand. "I thought as much. I didn't think it would manifest so quickly, I admit."

His words churned in her mind for a moment. "What, I have my own vengeful god attributes now and they play well with yours?"

"Something like that, though yours seem...how shall we say this? Merrier? You can thank your filaments and your Good alignment."

"And you get slithering demonic shadows because of your alignment? That's disturbing."

He shrugged. "It's a balance, and a consequence of prior decisions."

"Your attempt to hold all the filaments yourself?"

"Clever girl."

She snorted softly. "That's clever Power for Good to you." She put her own chin in her hands, mirroring his position, watching the twinkling nimbus trail above her skin. It stopped somewhat sulkily next to the tendrils of frosty darkness curling a few inches above him. "I have to tell you, this verges on the ridiculous."

His lips twitched. "_Twinkle, twinkle, little bat..._"

She smiled in spite of herself. "Yes. _How I wonder what you're at!_ How does the rest of it go? _Up above the world so high..._"

"_Like a tea tray in the sky,_" he finished, grinning.

"Are you my tea tray in the sky, then, if I'm your twinkle bat?"

"Only if you like your tea trays frosty and prone to slithering malice."

"My favorite kind."

"Well, then. Most fortunate, twinkle bat."

A giggle slipped out before she could catch it. "Never ever call me that in public. Or there will be consequences, slither tray."

"Duly noted." He reached for her hand, holding it pressed between his for a moment, and then began to kiss along the exposed side. It was a slow and unhurried thing, almost reverent.

Unbelievably seductive, of course, with his eyes fixed on hers, the slithering darkness dissolving away. _Well, that's a Magnificent Bastard for you. At least he's _**_my_**_ MB_. The filaments hummed their satisfaction in minor thirds, and she relaxed into his touch, watching as her own glittering nimbus faded. _Well, then. That explains things._

"Come here, love." He drew her to him, until she was leaning comfortably against his chest. "Perhaps now that we've released sufficient tension, we can go back to our original discussion."

The easy affection of their position was strange, and not unfamiliar. Which was also strange, as this casual touch was decidedly new. Not that she wasn't enjoying it, of course. He smelled absolutely edible, and that was a fact. _(Very edible. You should try. Highly recommended. We support this motion, yes.)_

She groaned softly. "Right, my filaments. My omnipresent, omni-burbling pseudo-Greek chorus of filaments. Did I mention their nonstop vocal properties?"

"Mmm," he hummed into her hair, "you need to give them something to do. Stories are excellent. Gives them a focus. It will also, conveniently, help ground your emotional state, which will prevent unintended twinkling."

"Right, because how the hell would I explain that to anyone?" She snorted. "'_Oh, don't mind me, just a little overwrought at the moment. Do you perhaps need a Christmas tree decorated?_' I mean, really..."

His laughter was a warm and soothing thing. "The trials and tribulations of our burden, I'm afraid."

"You get slithering darkness. Much more imposing."

"True. Your aura doesn't slaver."

She laughed into his chest, and then sighed. "Probably for the best. But I've basically just exited Aboveground, haven't I? There's no way to do normal like this."

"I wouldn't say that. You just have to be creative. What is it that you want to do?"

Moments passed as she contemplated this. "Well, I was doing a pretty good job as a creative writing expert. All those workshops, especially with children. Inspiring them to write their own stories."

His approval hummed through them both. "No reason you can't continue that. Nothing but will holds you to any course. Besides," he stroked his fingers through her hair, "that seems like an excellent way to harvest stories."

"True. Very very true." She nodded thoughtfully. "And so much of it is virtual anyway. How's the Internet connection Underground? Can it handle video conferencing?"

"It's as good as you need it to be. I think you'll find the filaments have other properties besides offering a mental Greek chorus, some of them rather useful."

She tilted her head up to look at him. "Really...and how does that work?"

She was suddenly immersed in an image of an endless bifurcating web, with nodes like lights strung along the countless branches. _(Connect-y connections. We play well with the fire of the fiber wires. Weeee! Best of friends. Shiny!)_

She blinked hard, trying to recover her sight. "Right."

"Come back to the castle and give it a try." His voice whispered against her ear, thrumming and suggestive. "The horde would love another story. Though heaven knows what they'll do with better internet access."

She smiled. "Mischief. Unimaginable mischief." Her brow furrowed abruptly. "It's only Monday, though. I just got back Aboveground last night."

"So you did. And yet you immediately called me."

She crossed her arms. "As the only other one I know with a filament chorus, you seemed a good resource."

"And?"

_(Tell him, teeeeelll him.)_ She sighed. "And I _may_ have missed you and the horde some, you insufferable man."

His pleasure was palpable, sliding along skin. "We missed you, too. So, when are you coming back?"

_(Nownownownownow...)_ She smiled ruefully, shaking her head. "How about now?"

"A fine plan, twinkle bat."

"Consequences, slither tray. There will be consequences."

"There always are."


	9. Knit Two

**Knit Two**

_In which both Jareth and Sarah discover the particular powers of knitting.  
_

* * *

Jareth's presence was a sudden rolling texture of dark curiosity at the cafe table, subtle as a winter storm. "What are you doing?"

Sarah didn't bother to glance up, though her chest warmed as she inhaled his familiar scent of vanilla and frost. "Surely you've seen knitting before."

"Yes, but why are you doing it? Surely it's far easier to buy a scarf or hat or...what is it you're making exactly?"

"Victorian-style wristlets with possible lace inserts. I haven't decided about the lace yet."

Seconds trickled by, accompanied by the deft rhythm of her needles, his eyes tracking the movements of her fingers over the yarn. "I see. Hard to find those ready made, I take it?"

Her lips quirked up. "There's that."

"Is there something else?"

She knit another row as she thought how to phrase it. "It's the feel of making something with your hands, solid and slow and just so. There's an uncomplicated rhythm to it that's completely opposite of everything else I do."

His eyes glittered. "Everything?"

Her lips twitched. "Well, I suppose there are _some_ things I do that are solid and slow and just so, with a rhythm. With goblin kings. In the night."

His smile was decidedly smug. "Also, sometimes in the late morning-"

"-_But_ most of what I do is with words. All that creative power, funneled into something rather intricate and intangible."

"The results aren't intangible. The horde is still wreaking merry havoc with their upgraded internet capability, for one thing." He leaned closer to watch her fingers. "Those online hacking schools are downright dangerous. Who knew the horde would take to Ruby on Rails so quickly?"

She huffed a small laugh as she maneuvered a slip-slip-knit into place. "True. But the story-making itself is intangible. Unlike knitting." She finished another row, sliding the growing wristlet around the cable between the needles. "Also, with my earphones plugged into my phone, no one thinks it's strange if I suddenly talk out loud to myself."

That earned a carefully raised eyebrow. "Are you inclined to do that?"

Her mouth tightened. "The filaments never shut up." (_Don't you like us? Be lonely without us! Need us. We need yooooou.) Hush.  
_  
His gaze darkened. "Still?"

"Still."

"Mine are silent now unless I call them."

"Lucky you." (_Not lucky! Lonely. Can't always share thoughts in mindspace. Sad for prickly love. But you have usususus. Luckyyouluckyyouluckyluckylucky._) She frowned as she moved a stitch marker from one needle to the other. "Did you have this problem with them when you tried to hold all of Memory's power yourself?"

He tilted his head, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he thought. "I may have, actually. Stretches of time from that period are... regrettably fuzzy."

She raised an eyebrow. "You really need to tell me the story of that whole escapade sometime."

He nodded. "Likely so. But not today." His eyes fell back on her with an almost palpable weight. "Today is about why you're here. And I'll grant it's a fine cafe to come to and pretend you belong Aboveground in."

"You, my dear MB, are far too perceptive for your own good."

"But it's your good I care about, my dear storyteller."

She smiled wryly. "Among others."

His teeth glinted in the cafe lights. "Among others. Speaking of, you know that you technically left us on a Sunday. Despite your promise."

She blinked, halting her knitting. "What? I left in the evening, like I usually do."

"Which is still Sunday."

She crossed her arms. "And yet all the previous times when I left with you Sunday evening to go Aboveground didn't violate that promise why?"

"Ah...you left _with_ me, didn't you? As opposed to whisking yourself away, courtesy of your filaments. Excellent harnessing of them, by the way."

Blood rose to her cheeks along with a swelling tide of self-satisfied filament commentary. "Nothing in that promise stipulated that I had to either depart with you or remain Underground until the day was completely over."

"It was implicit." He reached over to pick up the wristlet, rubbing the knitted fabric between his fingers.

"Implicit, my ass." She yanked the wristlet out of his hand. "We had precedent for the acceptable departure time."

He glanced up at her, amusement glittering in his eyes. "You're starting to twinkle."

"Gah!" She shut her eyes against the glowing nimbus that was forming. "I truly hate you sometimes." She savagely began working another row on her wristlet.

"Now, now, twinkle bat..."

"Don't even try. I've got to get this thrice accursed twinkling under control and you're making it worse with your blasted Faerie needling. If I can't tone it down, I'll have to leave." (_What he wants, what we want, what you want, let's goooooooo_.) _Quiet!_ She looked pointedly down at her knitting, thinking furiously. _Help me.  
_  
(_Help you what? We __**are**__ helping. We always help. Helpful us. Brought you here. Brought him here-_)

_You did what?  
_  
There was a sudden ripple of embarrassment. (_Fierce prickly love missed you, was worried. The horde was worried. Easiest way to fix it was to bring him to you._)

_I see.  
_  
The filaments cringed from her spiking anger, and immediately flooded her with their exuberant remorse. (_Sorrysorryverysorry. Don't be angry. We can help. Yesyesyesyeshelp. Just tell us what to do. Tellustellus._)

A heartbeat passed. _Can you leash my temper? I need to stop twinkling._

Her vision was flooded with an image of a glowing, vicious-looking thing with razor tips that quivered and flailed, ready to strike. It had an organic look to it, with sinewy connections and a rather disturbing pulse.

_What the hell?  
_  
A surge of filaments rushed to the thing, weaving themselves en masse around the barbed ends in oddly familiar patterns. (_We're helping. Even if it hurts some. Ouchouch. Knit two, purl two, knit two, purl two, slip-slip-knit..._)

Sarah blinked hard. The strange razor appendages now looked like they had fluffy mittens made of filaments. With lace inserts. She felt calmer, and insight snapped. _That thing's my temper?  
_  
(_Yes. Can be spiky. Trickyspiky. We can cushion the blows. Less volatile._)

She took an unsteady breath. "Was it always like this?"

Jareth looked at her quizzically.

She shook her head at him and directed her attention inwards, remembering not to speak out loud. _Well?  
_  
There was an indistinct burbling.

_Speak up._ A mittened appendage smashed into the ground, causing several distinct filament winces.

(_Don't know, don't know. Please forgive, don't know..._) A great welling of sadness and regret came from them.

She sighed. It was like kicking puppies, they were so damned well-intentioned. _Please don't cry. I forgive you for not knowing.  
_  
(_You do? You do! Youdoyoudoyoudo_.) Uncomplicated joy flowed from them.

The spiked thing dwindled in the wake of their mittened levity, limbs thinning and curling in on themselves. (_Rage tree all nice and tidy now. Feel okay? Yesyes. Don't need us to cushion it anymore_.) The filament mittens began to unravel.

_Hold on. I'd prefer if you remained there for now._

A wave of subtle pouting began. (_But it's quiet now. You don't need us there. Nononotnow_.)

The rage tree pulsed beneath them, undulating slightly. _And I say I do._

The filaments shivered, and then rewove the mittens.

She smiled slightly. "Alrighty then." She looked back up at Jareth, who had cocked an eyebrow.

"That was...interesting, twinkle bat."

"You don't know the half of it, slither tray. Do you have a rage tree?"

"A what?"

"Never mind. Apparently I do, and mine requires filament mittens."

His face was motionless.

She rolled her eyes. "It's a visual metaphor I was just supplied with by my little Greek mental chorus."

"Ah."

"It's why I'm no longer twinkling."

"So I see."

She smiled wryly, and picked her knitting back up. "Now who's the scarily inscrutable one?"

His lips quirked. "You may be enjoying that descriptor more than is healthy."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely an honest expression of concern for your mental health." Truth shimmered beneath the familiar banter.

She glanced up. "So I take it madness is an actual danger then?"

He pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

"Joy. Did Memory go that way?"

He sighed. "From a certain point of view."

"Don't give me any of that ambiguous Obi-Wan Kenobi business." She pointed her knitting needles at him. "I've seen the original Star Wars trilogy. I know about those six little words."

Laughter slid out of him, rich and warm. "Fair enough."

She savored the responding warmth that flooded her chest and tingled along her skin. "So then? Mad or not?"

"Mad for what she perceived as a righteous cause. But not mad in the conventional sense."

"So we're potentially charting new territory right now with me, if I stray off the sanity path."

He reached over to run a finger slowly down her left arm, from hand to wrist to forearm. "Never bored, twinkle bat."

She huffed a short sour laugh. "Never bored, slither tray. Never fucking bored." Frustration, fear, and self-pity surged suddenly, and wetness stung at the corner of her eyes.

"Sarah." It was a caress and a command.

She looked up at him.

"It will all work out." Truth and will wove together into an unstated promise, solid as stone.

"How can you know that?" Her eyes lingered over his, drinking in their certainty.

"I've been around longer than you. I know these things." He stroked his fingers along her cheek, catching a tear. "It's all about...being creative."

"Mmm. Does knitting count?"

"If it helps you gain control, I'd say it does."

She leaned her cheek against his hand, inhaling the spice-cold scent of him. It set off an internal cascade of _Home_, followed by a trailing tide of (_love him, prickly love, protective love, lovehimlovehim_). Calm blanketed her like snow, and she laid a gentle kiss against his palm. "Care to join me then?"

Both golden eyebrows jumped.

"Don't look so skeptical." A smile flickered across her lips. "Slow and rhythmic and just so. I bet you'd like it."

His own smile echoed hers. "What would you bet?"

"Mmm...one pair of tailored wristlets." She resumed her knitting with a deft flourish.

"It sounds as if you expect to win this wager, unless wristlets are unisex."

She tilted her head appraisingly, fingers moving swiftly over yarn and needle. "I'd say closer to 'androgynous appeal'. Certainly within your aesthetic wheelhouse." She glanced meaningfully at his shoes in all their sculpted, gleaming glory.

"I see." His lips flicked upwards. "Is that with or without your vaunted lace inserts?"

She lifted her eyes to the understated lace of his cuffs. "Again I say: within your aesthetic wheelhouse. And really, it's an excellent activity for wintertime, when you're working with yarn in all the colors you might dream of."

His finger slid onto the working strand of her black yarn, letting it play across his skin. "I can dream of quite a few colors."

She smiled. "Hold on a moment - I have something to show you when I finish this row." After several more stitches, she put her knitting down and pulled out her iPad, bringing up an online knitting catalog. "There." There was a touch of reverence in her voice as she pushed the tablet towards him. "A whole palette of possibility."

He slowly paged through the options with one hand, leaving the other tangled in the working yarn as her needles moved through several more rows. "That purple is exquisite."

She glanced over and nodded. "I know. And you haven't even seen the ones that change color yet."

His eyebrows raised in interest. "Do tell."

"Easier to show. We should order you some."

"The better to lure me in to knit with you, my dear?"

"Something like that." She tilted her head, widened her eyes, and whispered, "_Come stray into the knitting woods with me, Little Slither Riding Boots._"

His laughter rang like silver bells between them as he leaned back. "Of the two of us, shouldn't I be playing the wolf's part?"

"Ah, but who's doing the luring and who's being lured, knit-wise?"

"Fair point, Twinkle Knitting Wolf. Is it difficult to learn?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Hmmm...and how often do men partake of this activity these days?"

"Not as often as they should. You'd certainly cut quite the figure here at the cafe, for instance."

His smile showed the faint sheen of teeth. "Your attempts at subtle temptation are abysmal."

She shrugged. "Probably. Powers for Good aren't known for their manipulative qualities. Here - slip this on and see what you think."

He blinked slowly. "Your half-formed wristlet?"

"It stretches. And don't try to tell me you don't approve of basic black colorwise. I've seen your armor."

He slid his hand into it, pale fingers blossoming from the black confines, the cord of the needles slung down along the edge at his forearm. "That feels delightful. Like a kitten."

She smiled again, thoroughly enjoying the color contrast of his skin against the wristlet. "It's baby alpaca and silk. A bit of a pain to work with, and don't ask me how to wash it properly, but it's worth the end result, in my opinion. And the feel of it sliding through your fingers as you work is truly delightful." She took a sip of her drink. "Excellent counterpoint to a mug of chai and a slushy day outside."

He held up his hand, admiring it. "What else can you make?"

Her eyes lit up. "Well, there's this fabulous online community called _ravelry_..."

* * *

Next Monday afternoon, a dual click-swish of needles could be heard at the cafe. Sarah's second black Victorian style wristlet (lace insert decidedly included) was steadily growing. Jareth's creation was similar in style though simpler of pattern to bring out the color change of his yarn, which ran gently through the cool colors of winter - deep blues, subtle greys, delicate pale lavender, and pristine white.

Sarah was inordinately pleased.

"I can feel your glee all the way from here, you know." His eyes never lifted from his handiwork.

She made a valiant effort to tamp down her grin. "It's nice to win. Also to have knitting company. And aesthetically pleasing knitting company at that." She let her eyes trail along the length of those dexterous fingers of his.

That brought a glittering grin. "Oh, so I'm aesthetic, am I?"

"Quite. And I look forward to my winter palette wristlets."

"As I look forward to my black kitten ones."

"Who said these were for you? I'm the one who won our bet."

She was favored with shamelessly wide-eyed puppy dog eyes.

A guffaw slipped out. "That works better for the goblins. The small ones."

The puppy-dogness intensified, gaining anime-like proportions, mismatched crystalline eyes suddenly gathering all the light to themselves in a heart-rending silent plea.

"Whoa. That's just..."

The eyes were glistening unstoppably now, and a single tear was forming.

She backed into her seat, eyes wide. "Stop. These wristlets are yours. Just...stop that."

The obscenely cute aura dropped like a curtain, leaving his features relaxed into their normal patrician lines.

She let out a slow breath. "That was just heinous. When did you pick that up?"

He resumed his knitting with a smug flourish. "I don't believe I'll tell you."

She stared at him. "Insufferable. Absolutely insufferable."

"And aesthetically pleasing. What a jackpot you've struck in a knitting companion."

She shook her head slowly. "Slithering malice with chibi cuteness powers is just wrong. Disturbingly wrong."

"Precisely. Here, hold out your wrist and slip this on."

The fabric slid luxuriously over her skin, warm with the heat of his fingers. She sighed fondly. "Baby alpaca and silk. High maintenance and so worth it."

"You do have a weakness for that combination."

"Don't I know it. Good thing for you and the horde, your majesty."

"Good thing for us all, love." He surveyed the wristlet with a critical eye. "Another few rounds, I think. It should be tea-length."

"Should it now? Are we headed to formal tea sometime soon?"

A wry smile flashed. "Very possibly. Especially after the mad tea party rendition you favored the horde with on Saturday."

"Hard to go wrong with Alice in Wonderland as inspiration."

"True enough. Have anything yet for this Saturday?"

She looked at him. Hard. "It's only Monday."

"Planning ahead is a virtue."

"Oh, shush and knit. You're ruining my enjoyment of this wintry afternoon."

"Aesthetic and insufferable and ruinous. Such companions you choose."

"Don't I know it."

A loud sniggering suddenly came from the table of teenage boys to their left. It was followed by a stage whispered "_Fag_", with several defiant sneers.

The raptor precision with which Jareth turned his head was utterly arresting. One golden eyebrow lifted icily as the air around the boys darkened, hungry shadows slithering with a whisper of teeth.

"What was that, my fine fellows?" The smile he turned on them was positively predatory.

Chairs clattered to the floor as the boys fled, faces a uniform grey.

Jareth clucked his tongue. "A regrettable lack of manners. And _such_ language. They're clearly in need of a lesson in proper cafe etiquette." With a flick of his fingers, a tendril of shadows slithered after the boys.

Sarah watched as the last of them noticed the tendril, his grey face blanching further. "Agreed. Though perhaps a slithering malice tail is a touch...conspicuous? It does suck the light and heat out of everything."

Chibi-eyes flooded her again with their wide-eyed irresistible power.

She held up her hands. "Fine, fine...it's bleak as hell out anyway. Probably no one'll notice. But seriously, that chibi thing is wrong, I tell you. Just plain wrong. Does not go with slithering malice."

His shrug was nonchalant as he settled back to his knitting. "Aesthetic, insufferable, ruinous, and unexpected. You chose well, twinkle bat."

Her laughter fell gently between them. "So I did, slither tray, so I did."

* * *

***_Author's Notes:  
The shoes Jareth is sporting during this interlude are the Garric by John Fluevog. Completely worth checking out for the pretty.  
The ravelry dot com online community is in fact amazing for all things fiber arts.  
_


	10. Memoria Rerum

**Memoria Rerum**

_After losing a bet to Jareth, Sarah has to make her next story for the horde incorporate some unusual elements._

* * *

"An orange, a hobby horse, and a boomerang." Sarah's voice was deceptively calm, the words clipped as she leveled a hard stare at Jareth. "Why do you hate me?"

Jareth examined his fingernails unhurriedly as he stretched out on a velvet chaise lounge nearby. "Did you or did you not lose our bet?"

Her jaw clenched audibly, though she didn't say anything.

"Besides, it's not as if you haven't taken story requests before."

"But this...with no preparation time at all..." She gestured helplessly at the watching horde. "A story about the goblins and you, with major plot elements concerning an orange, a hobby horse, and a _boomerang_?"

The horde looked hopefully on. "And maybe a chicken?" called out a creaky voice. "Haven't had a chicken story in a bit."

Sarah slowly turned her glare on the goblin speaker.

The goblin blinked, his eyes growing wider, larger, positively _enormous_, soaking up the light of the hall in heart-rending cuteness.

Sarah whirled back to Jareth, struggling to swallow. "You taught them that heinous chibi thing? Sweet God, _why_?"

"Weapons come in many forms."

Sarah buried her head in her hands, mumbling.

"What was that, my love? Speak up if it's part of the story. We can't hear."

She shook her head. "Hate. You hate me."

"Now, now, buck up. This is an opportunity to stretch your creative muscles."

"Just you wait till you lose a bet with me."

"All well and good. But for now, it's Saturday story time."

Mutinous silence emanated from Sarah. And a distinctly twinkling nimbus.

A low goblin whine full of longing was picked up and carried along the rest of the horde, plaintive and piteous.

Jareth smiled, a dark hungry cloud curling around him like a sleeping dragon. It gave a rather cheeky wink to Sarah's twinkling aura. "Here, I'll even start you off. _Once upon a time..._" He looked expectantly at her.

Sarah shook her head again, resting her forehead on her hand. "At least your slithering malice thing isn't transferable." _What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with an orange, a hobby horse, and a boomerang? Oh, and a chicken, just for good measure?_

_(Psst, psst, how 'bout this for your story?) _A thoroughly bizarre juxtaposition of all the items danced before her mind's eye, heralded by much filament enthusiasm.

_Uh..._

_(As a key to a memory for a sequence of things. The odder the image, the better for that. That's what the human memory trainers say. Yesyes, that's what they say, that's what they do.)_

Sarah raised a considering eyebrow. The filament suggestion had some potential. And was remarkably more coherent than usual. _How do you know about human memory training, anyway?_

Self-satisfaction percolated through her mind in major fifths. _(Professional interest.)_

_Hmmph. _She filed that away for future reference, and felt a lucid calm wash through her as she stretched the filaments' idea like taffy, poking at it with their occasional suggestion until it came to just the right shape. She smiled. _Thanks, guys. I think that'll work._

Overwhelming joy burbled back at her in harmonizing waves.

She shook herself upright and looked at her audience.

"You've stopped twinkling." Jareth's voice held approval. "So, then: _Once upon a time..._"

Sarah smiled sweetly back. "Once upon a time, there was a king with an unholy fixation on (1) literary narrative, (2) being far too clever for everyone's good, and (3) random collections of items." She eyed Jareth. "Also, he was a betting man."

Jareth clasped his hands together in mock rapture. "Sounds like a delightful fellow."

"Yes, well, a certain ambitious sphinx demon with a memory hangup had a rather different opinion."

"Did she now?"

"Indeed. She'd heard the kingdom was held together by Memory, and given her prodigious talents in the area of memorization, thought she should be its rightful ruler."

Jareth arched an eyebrow. "Our kingdom's Memory wasn't about memorization."

"Someone had neglected to mention this to the sphinx demon. Also, she was the sort who wouldn't have listened anyway. Cunning as hell, arrogant, ruthless - and none too bright."

A delicate snort came from Jareth. "Too often true of our adversaries."

"Then you have a good idea what this one was like. So then..."

* * *

Sarah breathed deeply, drawing out the tension. "And so there the king stood, in single combat against his enemy, both of them surrounded by the watching horde, the battle of wits nearly complete. The king had recited almost all of the randomly ordered decks of tarot cards from beginning to end, with their correct orientations, and only seven cards remained." Sarah smiled. "The sphinx demon, as you might imagine, was beginning to get somewhat nervous. Sixty five minutes prior, she had scoffed when the king had claimed to have completed the memorization task she had set him."

"Shouldn't scoff at the king," murmured a goblin voice. "Never smart."

"Indeed, it isn't," agreed Sarah. "And the sphinx demon had been listening to the king's recitation with growing fear as she flipped card after card after card in front of her, each one matching what the king said. She hadn't thought anyone could memorize that many random things in the space of thirteen hours. _She_ certainly couldn't."

"That's 'cause she didn't have the king's memory magic!" piped up another goblin.

"Exactly. And so the image covering the last seven cards surfaced in the king's mind, as he stood there beneath the blazing sun, battling for the life of his kingdom. And that image was this: a goblin from the castle guard with a bellyful of chicken, riding a hobby horse while throwing a boomerang that had been transfigured from something."

She paused, letting the bewildered anticipation boil around her. " 'Page of wands reversed', said the king. That was for the goblin guard. 'Nine of cups.' That was for the guard's bellyful of chicken."

Happy sighs whiffled through the horde.

"And then he called out, 'Knight of wands reversed', followed closely by 'Page of cups reversed'. That was for the action of riding a hobby horse. The sphinx demon flipped the two cards over in hateful silence, grinding her teeth."

Gleeful smirks flashed here and there among the horde.

"'Nine of swords reversed,' he called, and then, 'The Tower'. That covered throwing the boomerang. And the sphinx demon slapped the two cards viciously down, but not without a tremble in her arm. But the last card," Sarah said, "what was it?"

Eager, puzzled murmurs raced through the horde.

"The last card corresponded to what the boomerang was made of, what it had been transfigured from. The king struggled to focus on that detail in his mind, to zoom in on the boomerang. It looked like the skin of some kind of fruit. Something with a rind, something juicy, something citrus...but not a lemon, no. And not a lime. It was..." Sarah paused, spreading her hands wide.

"_An orange_," breathed the horde.

Her smile stretched wide. "Exactly so. So how did the king answer the sphinx demon then? What was the last card that was based on the orange?"

Every eye was wide and waiting, from goblin to king.

"It was Strength. And the king pronounced the name of the card with luxurious precision, letting the syllable unfurl between him and the sphinx demon."

A chorus of "oohs" and "ahs" rolled through the horde.

"And as the king completed his recitation, when the last of the 1326 cards had been uttered in perfect sequence, the sphinx demon shrieked with rage. For she had lost. And..." Sarah's voice dropped low.

"_And_?" whispered the horde.

Sarah smiled. "And the horde was hungry. The king's recitation had lasted straight through lunch, you see. And did you know that that particular type of sphinx demon tastes just like chicken?"

"No..." The sound of a thousand licking lips echoed.

"The horde didn't either. But they were quite happy to find out."

* * *

Sarah sprawled next to Jareth on the velvet chaise lounge, her head resting comfortably on his chest as they watched the horde re-enacting the most recent tale.

His fingers traced lazy circles along her shoulder. "That was very well done. Though I now shudder to think of the visuals the horde will employ while memorizing random sequences of tarot cards."

"At least it'll keep them off the internet for awhile."

"True. So, why exactly did Strength correspond to an orange?"

She shrugged, her lips twitching. "Oranges have vitamin C. Very good for keeping up your strength."

"I see." His laughter slid through them both. "I'm also glad to see the control you're gaining over your filaments."

"How could you tell?"

"Let's see..." His fingers tapped lightly against her skin. "Your twinkle aura faded after a very short time, you mined the filaments for the core story idea, and they didn't interrupt during the story itself once. Probably because it was based around their idea."

She tilted her head to look up at him. "How could you tell they didn't interrupt?"

"You didn't get that distracted expression on your face." Satisfaction curled in his voice. "The one where you're listening to too many people talking all at once and want to strangle them."

"Hmmph. Judging by your tone, you think _you _had something to do with that."

"I might."

"Why?"

"The filaments are immensely powerful, and they exist to serve you. They get bored when you don't use them. And then they get chatty."

She lifted herself onto one elbow so she could look at him directly. "So you orchestrated this whole thing just to get me to utilize my filaments more?"

His eyes sparked. "I might have."

"What if I had won our bet and not had to come up with a story on the fly like that in front of the horde?"

He shrugged. "You'd have lost a bet eventually."

She sighed. "You could have just told me this beforehand. You know, something like 'Hey, my love, maybe the filaments would quiet down and not drive you batshit insane if you relied on them more - why don't you try that?'"

The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes flashed with amusement. "A little blunt, don't you think?"

"Direct communication is a virtue."

"Not for me."

She rolled her eyes. "Insufferable."

"Just the way you like it."

"Wanna bet?"

"Always."

* * *

_Author's note: The mnemonic tricks described here are based around the Person-Action-Object system, which is a popular method for memorizing long sequences of things. Which I've been reading about lately. And not actually doing in the slightest._


	11. Service

**Service**

_In which future events are set in motion, much to Sarah's chagrin. Which she expresses with choice words._

* * *

Jareth drew a finger slowly down the furrow in Sarah's brow as they lay together, limbs crisis-crossed on top of the sheets in relaxed familiarity. "What are you thinking about?"

She took a slow breath, leaning into his touch. "Mmm, how to put this...it's been lovely with you for quite some time, and my filaments seem to be behaving themselves now that I'm relying on them more. Life is glorious."

"Mmhmm. But?"

"More like so."

"Ah." His lips quirked up. "So?"

"So," she nuzzled against his wrist, "my spidey sense is tingling, given all the happiness abounding. What have you got up your sleeve?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and solemnly wrapped both very naked arms around her.

She laughed and whapped him on the shoulder until he loosened his grip. "Metaphorically speaking."

"Why would you think I had anything up my metaphorical sleeve?"

"You're a self-described Magnificent Bastard. Also, a magical faerie lord. It's what you _do_." She walked her fingers up the arm still draped over her. "So give."

He stretched back, closing his eyes. "I agree that things between us have been delightful. Why pick at it?"

"I'm the official Force for Good around here to balance out your Subtly-Evil alignment _and _the official Storyteller, with your ancient goddess's power remnants flowing gleefully through me." She shrugged. "It's what _I_ do."

"Fair enough. So you tell me about my nefarious secret plots, since you know so much about how all this works."

She sighed, drumming her fingers along the smooth plane of his chest. The weight of things unspoken pressed on her thoughts, like a mantle of anticipation. "Well, you clearly need to be plotting total domination of the realm, since you hate having to rely on someone else. Even if it's me." She smiled wryly at his carefully blank expression. "Your absolute control tendencies on small things are a dead giveaway and you've been at this awhile."

He inclined his head slowly, drawing a slow breath through his nose. "Perhaps I have."

"So, I'm going with total domination that leaves you and you alone with the reins of power. And if your portrait gets reabsorbed into your power base along the way, extra special bonus points because he's a right pain in the ass."

His lips flicked up briefly. "I can neither confirm nor deny your intimations."

She snorted delicately, a habit she'd borrowed from him. "They're blatant statements, not intimations. Anyway, a direct power grab isn't going to do it."

"Oh?"

"Nope. The simple plan of yoinking all of Memory's power for yourself failed like whoa back in the day. Side note: you still need to tell me the story of that."

"Mmm."

"Anyway, so now you've got to be more clever about how to do it. And hopefully a high priority goal is to _not_ utterly destroy me in the process since I own your heart."

He blinked slowly at her, and then pressed his face to the curve of her neck, inhaling long and deep. "That should work, then. I'm a magical Faerie lord. We tend to think both long term and strategically. Also, our hearts turn out to be decidedly...malleable."

She nestled into the heat of his mouth. "Depends on your storyteller, of course. But I like your heart mushy just for me and hard as stone for everyone else because I like being a special and unique snowflake. So here we are."

"So here we are." He leaned back and smiled. "Snowflake."

She shook her head. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Mmm."

"So, anyway, how does this work out long term? And us, how do we work out long term?" She paused. "Or if you tell me the details, does this upset all the delicate plans within plans within plans?"

He nodded his head. "That."

"Right. Of course. I knew I was due for a devastating plot twist." She blew out a hard breath. "Dammit."

His fingers danced through her hair. "If you like, I can still tell you all about it without telling you much of anything. Magnificent Bastard prerogative."

She arched an eyebrow. "Alright, I'll bite. What kind of plot twist?"

"So many options. You've made binding promises. What if you had to break them?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I didn't say 'want to'."

"Ah, right." She sighed, letting narrative inclinations run through her brain. "Some kind of exigency, unavoidable. And I, what, break Saturday story time? Or Sunday visit time? Those are the two main promises I've made."

He shrugged, saying nothing.

"Well, it's clear the consequence of _that_. I'd get a sad, possibly vengeful horde, a sad, definitely vengeful you, and a broken Faerie promise." A barrage of filament commentary assailed her in waves of panic, cresting through G minor. She shook her head. "Instinct - and less-than-subtle filament input - suggests it's the last one that's the worst."

"I'd be vaguely offended that my vengeful wrath takes second place to a broken Faerie promise, except that you're right. Spurn me, and you get my personal attention. Spurn Faerie, and you get the entire universe raining down on your head, from the smallest grain of sand to entire galaxies."

"Delightful. Maybe we can skip this whole broken promise bit, then. Surely if something came up, we could be creative with how to handle it. You can reorder time still, can't you?"

"For now, barring the Fates getting too proprietary with their timelines."

"So there ought to be a way to keep everyone happy."

"Why?" He seemed genuinely interested.

She lifted her chin, took a slow breath, and looked blithely back at him. "Because I'm the storyteller, and I was exposed to far too many bowdlerized fairy tales growing up - not to mention the Disney films - and I _demand_ happy endings."

He laughed. "A fine demand. But didn't the protagonists typically have some fairly extraordinary suffering along the way to said happy endings? Even in Disney films?"

She narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the press of narrative possibility that seemed to be rearing into existence. "They might have."

He raised an eyebrow.

"So you're trying to tell me we're due for some epic suffering if I want a happy ending?"

"Things have been going quite calmly for some time now. Narrative exigencies suggest so."

"Fucking monomyth." She didn't bother hiding her disgust.

"At least you know it's coming."

"What, forewarned is forearmed?"

"Quite."

Moments dripped by as dismay clawed through her. "Promise breakage is only one option, right? There are other ways to epically suffer en route to a happy ending."

"True."

She tapped her fingers slowly against her forehead. "More internal ones, for instance. Like breaking my personal code of ethics in the service of something greater. End justifies the means sort of thing. Very fitting trap for a Good alignment." She made a face.

"What?"

"I don't want to do something...icky."

"'Want' is never the operative word."

"Of course not." She waved her hand. "And I'm sure to push it into the epic suffering category, I should do it, end up breaking a Faerie promise to you anyway, plummet the whole kingdom into chaos since both our alignments would be out-of-whack (me as the evil promise breaker, and you as the righteously offended party), and nearly cause total oblivion to us all before saving the day through something that just happens to solve all our woes, probably involving both of us permanently rooted into the kingdom like it's a gilt prison, just for that bittersweet get-what-you-asked-for-but-not-how-you-thought element."

The words had gushed from her, a tingling line from her mind to her mouth that hummed with a power so strong it made her bones ache. But it was different from the previous power from Memory, those filaments that were so freeform and ready to flesh out her will. This was like a shining net, weighty with demands and requirements and alien urges, settling over her with a resounding gong of finality.

Realization hit her like a brick wall. "_Shit_. Shit, fuck, motherfucking shit, fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

His eyes glowed. "You've done it, haven't you?"

"That's not a goddamned happy ending!" Her outrage ignited between them as she shouted out to the waiting darkness. "I won't do it. I _won't_. Fuck you, monomyth, and fuck the horse you rode in on!" She whirled on him. "And _you_! Why the hell did you orchestrate this travesty of a plotline for us?"

"Would you believe boredom, plus subtly evil alignment tendencies?"

Realization clubbed her again. "And your own mantle of narrative demands. God fucking _dammit_." As she fumed, wheels churned in her head. "Doesn't your awareness of the plotline mitigate your responses when the events happen?"

"Why?"

Words utterly failed her. After opening and closing her mouth a few times, she managed, "Because you know we have no choice when it happens! Either of us."

"So?"

She closed her eyes briefly and rubbed her fingers against her forehead. "So how can you be righteously, vengefully indignant if I break my promise to you when you'll know I had to?"

He shrugged again, unperturbed. "We've got our roles to play."

"For _who? _Who's watching?"

He favored her with a decidedly enigmatic smile.

"Oh, fuck your enigmatic smile. Use your words."

He leaned closer to her, letting their breath mingle. "Can't you feel the draw of the new filament mantle? It's the price we pay for this rather sizable new power." His lips brushed hers.

She leaned back. "Stop changing the subject. Who's watching this plot travesty that's going to unroll? Why the fucking hell are we going to do it?"

Calm compassion lit in his eyes as his voice became velvety, almost soothing. "It's how stories promulgate, how that part of Memory's power causes new minds to resonate. To dream and wish and make new stories."

She stared at him. "So we go through this whole epically painful cycle to bring in outside fucking interest?"

His lips quirked wryly. "More or less. And in the meantime, we're never bored."

She shook her head slowly for several moments, her eyes still fixed on his. "_The_ _Neverending Story_ called - Ende wants one of his key plot elements back."

He arched an eyebrow. "Where do you think Ende got the notion for that particular element?"

She stared at him. "I fucking hate this." She shut her eyes hard then, willing the last half hour to undo itself. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't agree to reorder time for this, and frustrated rage boiled its way through her. _What the bloody fuck, Jareth? Why do you want this, of all things?_

The heat of his skin curled around her, his presence cascading over her as his voice burrowed into her ear in a whisper of secrets. "Service to the realm can be a right bitch, my love. But we serve."

His words smothered the swell of her rage, evaporating the bitter tide and leaving her hollowed out and aching. She turned to look at him again. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to hate me."

"It's not about want at this level. And at least you know it's coming. And it all works out, more or less." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You've made it so."

"What if I refuse to play? What if I just don't do whatever thing it is that starts this whole train wreck?"

"You won't be able to avoid it forever. These things have a way of happening. If you ignore the more obvious opportunities, something subtle will come along and you'll fall right into it, like a well-pulled puppet." He sighed with a certain rueful nostalgia. "And the universe will probably add a good dose of ridiculous humiliation just to top it off."

She raised an eyebrow. "Experience talking, I take it?"

"Being conquered by a fifteen-year-old and her half-wit minions is pretty humiliating for a Magnificent Bastard faerie lord who controls the fabric of time."

Her lips twitched up despite her mood. "Point. Definite point." She leaned her head against his chest. "So what do we do?"

"I suggest we enjoy our abounding happiness until the train wreck moment rears its ugly head."

"Just go on like nothing's changed?"

"Exactly."

"How can we possibly do that?"

"Like this." His fingers began doing very interesting things as they made their way down her hip and curved inward.

She inhaled sharply, feeling a familiar heat stretch beneath her skin. "Your powers of persuasion are mighty." Her fingers mirrored his, tracing the hollow just inside his hip and curving inward.

He growled softly and nipped along her neck. "Much practice, my love."


	12. Fronts

**Fronts**

_Sarah makes a preemptive narrative strike, and narrative exigency strikes back._

* * *

"_Ha! Can't get me that easily,_" Sarah murmured under her breath.

"What was that?" Karen's voice bounced between concerned and vaguely affronted, a tone that carried surprisingly well over the fuzzy connection.

"Sorry," Sarah coughed delicately, "that was directed at someone else."

Jareth smiled from the pillow, watching her maneuver the filaments into a more solid phone line substitute.

"Ah. Is your boyfriend there again? Say hello to him for us."

"Karen, no! Jareth's not...I mean, he _is_, but-"

Karen's laughter tinkled back. "Sarah, I was young once, too. Things happen before marriage."

Jareth's smile turned positively wicked.

Sarah swallowed, her cheeks flaming. "_Anyway_, I can't make the barbecue if it's on the weekend. You know I work then. They're quite strict about it."

"Mmhmm," agreed Jareth as he began to kiss up the length of Sarah's forearm. She tried to shake him off, which caused the filaments to spiral into disarray. It took a moment for her to shape them back into a sensible connection.

"-not even one exception for a family function? Honestly, Sarah, that's just unreasonable of them."

_Tell me about it - Faerie promises can be a right bitch. _"If you give me enough notice, I could maybe swing a Saturday. The Saturday client and I get on pretty well." Jareth's mouth was now doing very distracting things along her collarbone. She swatted at him. He dodged and gleefully continued. "But the Sundays are pretty non-negotiable at the moment."

"Hmmmph. Well, I'll make excuses for you. But don't work too hard, Sarah. You need time to play, too."

Sarah twisted away as Jareth nipped along her neck. "Yes, ma'am."

Karen laughed. "Alright then - bye now."

"Bye."

The connection clicked off. Sarah punched Jareth's arm lightly. "You, sir, are a scoundrel."

"Also apparently your boyfriend."

"More than that and you know it."

"It's nice to be told." He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

She laughed. "Fine, then. You're my insufferable scoundrel chibi-inclined eternal _looooooove_."

"Mmhmm." His eyes sparked with pleasure. "And yet you're still pleased. How extraordinary."

"I've easily avoided missing Saturday story time with you and horde, not to mention Sunday visit time." She grinned. "Sarah 1, narrative exigency 0 for today."

He clucked his tongue. "Gloating at Faerie, are we?"

Sarah widened her eyes innocently. "But I wouldn't do _that_. Nope. Because that _would_ be stupid."

He arched an eyebrow. "Indeed it would."

She leaned on her elbow to look at him, drawing her fingers through the cornsilk softness at the nape of his neck. "But I'm thinking a more frontal assault style approach may be called for here."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm. If I'm supposed to break a Faerie promise, then I should at least choose the promise. Pick one with ramifications that are manageable."

He arched the other eyebrow. "Such as?"

She cocked her head, a half-smile flickering. "I swear not to kiss you in the next minute. So pacted?"

His eyes narrowed. "Sarah, this isn't-"

"Just try it for me." She sank a little power into her words, letting it roll out between them. "_So pacted_?"

"Your subtlety needs work, twinkle bat." He twitched beneath the golden glow that was sidling up his arm. "Especially with the new mantle of power."

"Quit stalling. So pacted?"

He sighed and closed his eyes, letting her twinkling aura wash over him. It coated him like a second skin before being absorbed. "So pacted."

The not-chimes of Faerie promises fluttered faintly around them. She leaned forward and brushed her lips deliberately across his.

His eyes snapped open at the shattering not-tinkle of the broken promise.

She swallowed, her heart pounding. "Drat, didn't keep that one. How 'bout them consequences? Should I be expecting the ceiling to crash down around our ears shortly until I can rectify the situation? I can probably keep my lips off you for at least a minute in the future."

He touched his forehead to hers. "You shouldn't do that. One: It won't work. Two: You'll build up horrifically bad Faerie karma."

She relaxed into him, feeling the rhythm of his voice slide through her bones. "Experience talking?"

"Could be."

"I see." She sighed, her fingers drifting through his hair. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

"No, but devious plans like that one will endanger your Good alignment."

"Afraid my twinkle aura's going to pick up some slavering malice?"

The silence was sudden and swift.

She drew back to look at him. "History lesson time? Did that happen to you, too?"

His face could have been carved from stone.

She tugged gently at his hair. "Jareth? There something I ought to know about how your aura came to be the way it is?"

His brow furrowed for the briefest of moments, as if that were the only movement he could manage beneath the strain of...whatever it was. Something darkly luminous built behind his eyes.

She swallowed hard. "Jareth, honey? Can you hear me?" She cradled his cheek, adrenaline fueling a twinkling glow above her fingers. _(Something wrong, come back, come baaack.)_ She sank her will into the filaments' plea. _C'mon, baby. You can hear me. Come back to us._

He blinked hard, returning to life. "I'm here."

"Good." She heaved a deep breath as the black fire dimmed behind his eyes. "Now what the hell was _that_?"

"I don't know." Confusion flared across his features before he smothered it with a polished veneer of resignation. "Narrative exigency come calling, I suppose."

She stared at him, and then cursed for a full minute. "Alright, let's narrow things down. This happened when I made that comment about my aura becoming more like yours. Since this is narrative exigency rearing its nasty little head, it's not just coincidental. What can you tell me about how your aura came to be like it is, back when you held all of Memory's power inside you?"

He was motionless again, blank, his eyes darkening with the eerie black fire from before. She could feel him slipping, _shifting_.

"Oh no you don't..." She flooded him with her twinkling aura, giving the filaments direction. _Don't let him slip further. Bring him back. (Yesyes, get him, grab him, don't lose fierce prickly love! Gethimcatchhim, catchcatchcatch.) _In her mind's eye, she saw the filaments form glowing vessels to catch the cascading streams of...something...gushing away from Jareth in far too many directions. He was limned in darkness, a pit in man's shape, a black hole..._Sweet God, put him back, put him back..._

The vessels poured their shining liquid back in, covering the darkness.

_Stay, _she willed to him, _stay._

Jareth blinked slowly, his eyes light and beautiful again.

She held his face in her hands, her eyes searching his. "You back with me now?"

He took a careful breath, and then another. "I think so."

She breathed in time with him. "Okay, your job is to _not_ ponder that aspect of your past deeply, particularly when I'm not around to save you with my glowing light of Good alignment love. In fact, how about we build a mental fortress that prevents that because _holy shit_, Jareth."

He nodded slowly, his jaw clenching. "And your job?"

"I'll try to figure out what's going on more obliquely. I've got primordial creative mojo, with a shiny mantle of power. Surely I can come up with something. In the meantime, how about that mental fortress of Stay the Hell Away from This Thought Train?"

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and nodded again.

They entwined their fingers and began.

* * *

The mental wall they'd managed to create drew on Jareth's energy to maintain itself, and the initial construction was no small energy sink. Upside: it would keep his thoughts from wandering down paths of doom for the time being. Downside: it drew _a_ _lot_ of his energy because whatever was inside was trying very hard to get out, now that it had found this opening.

_Courtesy of my frontal assault, most likely. _The thought was two parts bitterness, one part remorse, and three parts seething rage. The rage had yielded a variety of creative slurs about monomyths, their ancestry, and their equine companions. Of course, Jareth would have appreciated them more if he hadn't been so utterly exhausted by the whole thing.

She'd curled into him when they'd finished, intending to drift into unconsciousness with her limbs comfortably entangled in his. He was gone in moments, and she lay there wrapped his arms, trying to let the drowsy heat of him quiet her thoughts.

But her thoughts insisted on spinning, spinning, spinning. The filaments provided an image of a crazed wheel trying to turn straw into gold without magical assistance. _(Need help to go forward.) _She snorted softly. _Where's a handy knowledgeable figure of plot advancement when you need it, huh? Typically contrary, likely lurking in the background being ignored until needed and sulky as hell about it-_

She blinked suddenly as the filaments sung their approval in major fifths_. Right, got it._

She slipped out of bed, covering Jareth with the blanket and kissing him softly on the lips and forehead. _I've got a portrait to see about a man, honey. I'll be back._

He didn't stir as she padded softly down to the library.

* * *

Sarah found the shadowy alcove of _no-no-don't-look-here _and drew the velvet curtain firmly back.

"Didn't you promise _him _not to interact me?" Portrait-Jareth had a decidedly sour expression. "Boring as bloody hell it's been, too."

She shrugged off his irritation. "It was a request. No Faerie pacts, so we're good. And you and I need to talk."

"About what?"

"What do you know about what happened to him earlier?"

His expression became sly. "And why would I know about that?"

She rolled her eyes. "What did you sense when it went down?"

"Why would I sense anything at all?"

She resisted the urge to punch the canvas. "You're connected. You must have felt something."

He shrugged. "Must I have?"

She eyed him. "You're purposefully avoiding answering me, aren't you?"

He blinked slowly at her. "Now why would I do that, I wonder?"

She rubbed her fists briefly over her eyes. "Threatening to beat you senseless probably wouldn't do much, would it?"

"And make me ornery to boot." His smile was quite smug.

"Like trying to teach a pig to sing," she muttered.

"How's that?"

"It doesn't work, and it annoys the pig."

He brushed imaginary dirt from his sleeve. "I sing just fine, thank you very much. Far better than _he _does, I'll wager."

She closed her eyes, silent and still, her aura flickering and sparking around her.

After a few moments, he broke the quiet. "What are you doing? Your strobing is giving me a headache."

"Counting to ten slowly in my head so I don't do something irreparable to your canvas." _C'mon, guys, help me out here. _(_Rage tree wrap coming up! Knit two, purl two...come up with a plan. He knows something. Trick it out of him. Sneaky, sly, tricksy you. Make him tell you backways.)_

_Backways?_

_(Reverse ways. Manipulaways.)_

"Is it working?" he asked, severing her attention from the filaments.

"What?"

"Your counting. Is it working?"

She blinked slowly at him, mental wheels whirring. "Am I still twinkling?"

"Yes."

"Then no." She looked at him, sighing emphatically. "Look, let me make this simple: You're linked. He goes down, you go down with him."

"Eh, who'd miss him really? Stick up his arse, always _control, control, control._"

"You're an unbelievable brat. No wonder he doesn't want anyone to talk to you."

"So why are _you_?"

"Because I thought you might know something. Clearly, I was wrong. You're just the more irritating parts of him all wrapped up in a nice little vaguely post-adolescent package." She looked away in disgust, covertly glancing to gauge his reaction. _Take the bait, sweetie, c'mon..._

Indignation furrowed his brow. "A nice little package who knows a thing or two."

_Hook, line, and sinker. _She snorted. "Sure you do."

"I know enough to tell you that you can solve it yourself."

"Oooooh, so helpful."

"By creating the knowledge you need," he snapped. "He can't tell you, I can't tell you, so make something that can. Bloody simple with a mantle of power like you've got."

"Is it now?"

"Of course." His voice dripped with exasperation. "Say your right words and all. You're the bloody storyteller."

"I see." Understanding curled her lips up. "Thank you."

He grumbled something inaudible, then waved his hand to shoo her away. "Don't bloody mention it."

* * *

She turned to face the deep stacks, crafting the narrative element she wanted, shaping words just so. But who to tell it to?

_(Yourself. The audience.)_

_An audience of myself? That's weird._

_(Not just you, never just you. Even when you're alone, you're not. Tell it, tell it, telltelltell. Say your right words.)_

_Alrighty then, O inscrutable Greek chorus..._

"And so," she said softly, "the intrepid storyteller used her shiny mantle of power to call into existence a book that would give her answers. It was called _History and Prophecies of the Labyrinth, _and it lived in the disorganized stacks in the north-northwest corner of the library, right next to the reference books on knitting. Why knitting, you might ask? Well, two reasons. First, the stacks were, as mentioned, disorganized. Second, the tome in question got on quite well with the knitting references, since both were about constructing patterns. Fate and yarn have far more in common than most people realize. Strands of different textures and tensile strengths, some delicate, some nigh indestructible...oh yes, fate and yarn have quite a bit in common. And so the needed tome was to be found near its spiritual brethren."

And with that, Sarah picked her way to the north-northwest corner.


	13. Deeper, Piled Higher and

**Deeper, Piled Higher and**

_Sarah decides that some things are best kept hidden. Jareth would very much like to agree, but can't._

* * *

Sarah forgot to breathe as she read the last few words in the subsection on Jareth's probable future. "..._and so the entire Universe was destroyed as if it had never been."_

_Holy shit. _This was bad. Literally world-rending levels of bad.

She slammed the book shut, shivering in the cool confines of the library. _History and Prophecies of the Labyrinth _had seemed like such a good idea, what with the whole "knowledge is power" approach. But really, the self-fulfilling aspect of Jareth's fate was just diabolical.

"Fucking monomyth," she muttered.

Jareth, quite simply, did _not_ need to know about this. If he lost it and that wall they'd just built came down, Mordor would look downright pleasant in comparison. At least there was _life_ in Mordor.

Of course, that was only if Jareth knew (well, _remembered_) that he was capable of that kind of transformation. If not, he'd suffer and he'd rage and be resentful as hell, and it would be no fun at all for anyone...but it wouldn't be _that_.

And in the end, _that_ was worth avoiding at all costs. Even if he hated her for it. Having him hating her as himself was infinitely better than having him become that. Period.

She just had to find a way to make it bearable. For them both. And it probably involved epic suffering because, well, _monomyth_.

She heaved a deep breath, cursing silently again at monomyth-kind. Then she swallowed hard and opened the book back up to its index, her finger sliding down until she found her own name. _Subsection: Dire Paths._

She closed her eyes briefly. _Of course._

* * *

Sarah shook her head slowly, her eyes drifting over the last few words. "..._and so she became a terrifying hellgod of vengeance, a scourge upon the Universe."_

She snorted. _It never rains, but it fucking pours._

"Just so we're clear, monomyth," she whispered, "you and I are not friends. Involving Toby is damned low of you, too."

What was worse was that it was clearly a hack plotwise. It just so _happened_ that Toby would be killed by a horrific freak accident, _and _it would be preventable if only _someone _with appropriately heroic reflexes noticed at the right moment, _and _if (alas!) Toby wasn't saved, Sarah herself would spiral off into a grief-and-and-guilt-induced dementia sure to wreak havoc and Dooooom (cf. terrifying hellgod). Also, just for plot bonus points, the preventable accident occurred at a place called Stavromula Beta.

Sarah glared at the book.

It was the overt Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy plot point reference that tipped the whole thing over into Officially Cheesy. It wasn't quite ridiculous, but it was definitely heading that way.

"Honestly," she muttered, "_Stavromula Beta_? I won't even bother to ask how Toby's going to end up at a place called that. Your plot kung fu is weak, monomyth. Weak."

* * *

Jareth was awake when she got back to the bedroom. There were hollows beneath his eyes and a careful economy to his motions, as if every movement took unspeakable effort. He blinked slowly up at her as she sat down next to him. "Found something, did you?"

"What makes you say that?"

His lips flicked up in a half-smile. "Exhibit one: your clenched jaw. Exhibit two: your beautifully furrowed brow. Shall I continue?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "Best not."

"So?"

Her smile dropped away. "It's not pretty."

"It never is."

"And I can't tell you the details."

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. "Self-fulfilling prophesy, is it?"

She stared back. "You're disturbingly astute."

His smile turned sour. "Practice, twinkle love. Too much practice."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Knowledge sets bad things in motion. Bad, bad things." She lifted her chin. "So I'm going to keep that stupid insidious knowledge from you, and I do so swear it. So pacted?" Her aura rolled over him in a golden wave.

His face was motionless, his eyes glittering beneath the sway of her will. "So pacted." He closed his eyes as the not-chimes of Faerie promises resounded around them and her aura dissolved into him. "You probably shouldn't have done that, though. Now I have to find out."

"Why?" Her voice was plaintive, but she felt the mantle of power pressing around them both, squeezing and molding and _pushing_.

He kissed the bend of her wrist, the heat of his mouth whispering along her skin. "You know why."

The words tumbled out of them both: "_Fucking monomyth._"

* * *

The next day, Sarah found Jareth attempting to wrangle useful information from his portrait.

"-canvas is so _terribly _thin. Such a pity if something should happen to it." Jareth's voice held cold menace like a blade.

"Oh, _stuff _it. My canvas is nearly indestructible. You'd need a nuclear reaction to even singe it."

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

Sarah cleared her throat.

Jareth turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised.

She tried very hard to keep a straight face. "Having a nice chat?"

"_Always a pleasure with Mr. Stick-Up-His-Arse_," portrait-Jareth called out.

Jareth's mouth tightened. "I feel some time alone would be best. If you wouldn't mind, Sarah-love?" He glanced meaningfully away from the portrait.

She took the hint. "Right then. I'll just be on my way." She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Have fun, honey."

Jareth's hand snaked out to hold her against him when she went to pull away, his lips brushing along her cheek and jaw and hair.

Portrait-Jareth wolf-whistled. "_Nice move! _Now go for the neck._"_

Jareth growled and turned back to his portrait.

* * *

Sarah wandered into the solarium, soaking in the sunlight and the green growing things. Now was probably as good a time as any to pump Karen for information on Toby and Stavromula Beta. She turned her attention filament-wards.

_Hey, guys - I need to call Karen._

Filament joy harmonized inside her mind in major fourths. _(One line to the step-mama coming right up!) _A luminescent feathery network flared into existence, sparkling in the streaming sunlight. There was a sensation of tunneling and stretching, and then the jolt of sudden connection.

"Sarah?"

"Hey, Karen. How'd you know it was me?"

Karen's laugh trilled through the line. "Well, you _did_ call my cell, Sarah, and believe it or not, it shows me the number calling."

"It shows the number?"

"Yes, dear. Twenty first century and all. And you're the only one with a 777 area code I know."

_Nice job, guys. _"Right, right, of course. I keep forgetting you upgraded your phone. Look, I have an odd question for you. Have you heard about a place called Stavromula Beta? It may be fairly local."

"How funny! How did _you_ hear about Stavro's, Sarah? I only found out because Toby's friend is having his birthday party there in a few weeks."

Sarah leaned her face firmly into her palm and sighed. _Weak, monomyth. Damned weak._

"Funny place for a birthday party too," continued Karen, blithely oblivious to Sarah's narrative disgust. "It's mostly a bar with a tacked-on kiddie section. But the birthday boy read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series recently, and apparently demanded it."

"Mmm, funny." _Fuck you very much, monomyth._ "When's the party?"

"On the twenty sixth." Karen paused. "They actually need a few adult chaperones. You wouldn't happen to want to volunteer, would you? Mothers are far less acceptable to pre-teen boys than attractive and sophisticated older sisters, you know."

"Laying it on a bit thick there, Karen?"

"Can't blame a woman for trying, dear. Could you make it, though? Toby would love to see you, and it would only be for a few hours in the afternoon."

"Uh, let me check my schedule. Hold on." She focused on a set of burbling filaments who weren't currently stretched into the phone line. _Hey guys, schedule check for me? What day is the twenty sixth?_

_(Suuundaaaaaaay, bloody Suuuuuuundaaaaay), _they sang back to her. It was quite a passable rendition of the U2 song.

Sarah laid her face in her palm again. Of course it was Sunday. _Alright, calculation time - how many Sundays has it been since you guys first showed up?_

_(Thir-teen!)_

Her eyebrows jumped. Nearly three months of Sundays, even if you were sneaky and proclaimed every month had five Sundays in it.

_How many Sundays from now is the twenty sixth?_

_(Th-reeeeeee!)_

Which would make it the _sixteenth _Sunday.

_Heh, nice try, monomyth. _

Sarah mentally thumbed her nose at monomyth-kind, and the burbling contingent of filaments followed suit with admirable synchrony. "I can do it, Karen. I'll be there."

"Are you sure, dear? I thought you said your work wouldn't let you out on weekends. Especially Sundays."

"By then, I think I can swing it. Besides, it'll be good to see Toby in his natural habitat."

"Surrounded by other pre-teen holy terrors and wreaking merry hell?"

Sarah laughed softly. "You betcha." Relief welled suddenly and she took a deep breath. "We're all lucky to have you, Karen, you know?"

"Mmmhmm. I love you too, Sarah. Bye now."

* * *

Upon reflection, it was good _someone _still loved her because things with Jareth got...a mite tetchy. It certainly didn't help that the mental wall was draining him nearly dry. He was constantly exhausted, unable to tap his usual power reservoirs, let alone the new mantle.

The weakness sat rather poorly with him. Sarah suspected it was far too close to his state before she had joined him and the horde. His bitterness had that resigned not_-again _flavor to it and it burned between them, corrosive as all hell.

Of course, that didn't stop him from using his considerable Magnificent Bastard wiles to try to mine information from her. She knew it was narrative exigency that kept forcing him to it, but she'd be damned - probably quite literally - if she broke that Faerie promise.

However, when they reached the hundred and sixty ninth connivance in two and a half weeks-_because who was counting, right?_-she felt the need to mark the occasion by cutting through the verbal gymnastics. She closed her eyes, burying her face in Jareth's back as she lay curled around him in their bed. "Jareth, honey, please don't ask me that. Not again."

"I can circumvent the consequences." His voice slipped across her skin, silky with promise. "I've had practice with these sort of self-fulfilling things. And my portrait has provided some useful hints."

Her chest ached. "I _can't_. Don't you understand that I can't?"

"Can't or won't?"

The words hung between them, hovering and crackling.

She clenched her jaw. "Won't. Faerie promise. You were there." Pleading pooled in her voice. "Remember?"

"I see." His words dropped like stones.

She inhaled deeply, holding the scent of him inside her. Her words, when they came, were soft as shadows. "Can't you trust me on this?"

Silence pressed against them both like a vise.

When he spoke, his voice was ragged. "I wish that I could."

She felt the tears trickling down her cheeks as she held him tighter. "I know."

They spoke together then, though her voice flowed over his, washing it away. "_Fucking monomyth_."


	14. Event Horizon

**Event Horizon**

_In which Sarah tries to avert more than one prophecy and narrative exigency scoffs in her general direction._

* * *

"What?" Jareth's voice snapped with displeasure as he shrugged Sarah's fingers off his shoulder.

She swallowed. "I said I'll be gone a few hours this afternoon."

"Sunday is our day." The words were soft, a cold tendril of accusation writhing inside.

She fidgeted, trying not to reach for him again. "I know, but I found out a prophesy about me, and it involves Toby."

"Oh?"

"The short version is that he's going to die, I can stop it, and if I don't, I'll become so wracked with guilt and grief that I'll become - and I quote now - '_a terrifying hellgod of vengeance'_. An official scourge upon the Universe and everything."

He arched an eyebrow. "Delightful."

"Quite." She crossed her arms. "Toby's death is supposed to happen today so I'm going to stop it and avert potential hellgodhood for me."

Jareth's inhalation was carefully measured, as if he were bracing himself. "There's no other way, I take it?"

"Not that I can see." She blew out a breath. "Toby will die if I don't, and then poof! Scourge-y hellgodhood." She paused, taking in the set of his jaw. "What?"

His expression was unreadable. "He's more important to you than me?"

She rolled her eyes, exasperated with this narrative pull. "Don't do this. It's not about you. You _know _that. And I'd really like to _not_ travel the hellgod plotline, thanks all the same. Especially when it's preventable."

His resentment hovered like a storm, threaded with a strange underchord of relief.

But he didn't say anything.

"Look," she stepped close to him, her eyes catching his, "I'll be gone for a few hours this afternoon. So I'll miss part of the day. But it's not the whole day. And we're past the three months of Sundays no matter how you count it, so while I'm taking some time away from our day - and I'm _sorry_ for that, honey. I know things really suck ass for you right now and I want to be here for you. But this isn't promise-breaking territory."

He leaned in until they were a breath apart. "You're so sure?"

Her eyes couldn't make up their mind to narrow or widen, and ended up doing a bit of both. "What?"

"Three months of Sundays, twinkle _love_." The pet name held scorn like a knife.

She ignored it and crossed her arms again. "Yes, I know. Today is number sixteen, which is definitely past the three months' worth, even if you say a month in general has five, because three times five is fifteen and…" She trailed off, gauging his expression, which bore more than a passing resemblance to an iceberg. "Alright, what?"

"How many days does a month have?" The words floated, feather-light.

Her eyes narrowed. "Between twenty eight and thirty one." A prickle of unpleasant realization built along her skin.

"So I'm well within my rights to interpret three months of Sundays as three sets of thirty one. Which is ninety three Sundays." His eyes sparked with shadow and night. "Which is far, far more than sixteen."

Comprehension stung her like a wasp. "This is where the train wreck moment happens? On a fucking technicality?"

Silence swarmed between them.

She swallowed hard. "You couldn't, you know, interpret it my way so that we could avoid said train wreck?" A pleading note entered her voice. "I know things have been tense with me not telling you the Self-Fulfilling Thing, but I love you, and _please _could you just _not do this_?"

Pain shimmered behind his eyes, as if he strained against a mountain. "No." The word dropped like a castle gate, immovable and final.

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry and scream her frustration at him, at _it. _Of course it couldn't have been that easy. Because narrative would not be denied.

_Fuck you, monomyth_. _Fuck you in the eye._

The filaments buzzed their heartfelt agreement in a swelling chorus of invective.

_Hey, guys? Call Karen for me, would you?_

_(Right on it), _they burbled, (_yuppetyyupyup, streeeeeeeeetch-)_

The filament connection zinged through her like a second heartbeat. "Hi, Karen? There's something I need to talk to you about..."

* * *

Karen's voice trilled with exasperation. "Something bad will happen? Toby can't go because he's in danger? Oh really, Sarah! You sound like _me_." She sighed. "Look, if you don't want to come, or can't, Toby will live with it. I can fill in for you. But please don't pull these fanciful antics. It's disrespectful to both of us."

Sarah felt a furious blush creep up her neck at what Karen thought of her. _Some primordial creative powers I have...can't even sway my own step-mother._

But it wasn't unexpected. That would have been too easy, too.

She directed a thought filament-wards. _Hey, guys? Check the prophecy tome in the library for me. It's in the north-northwest corner next to the knitting section. _

A few filaments zoomed away like glittering roadrunners. (_Gotitgotitgotit - check for what?)_

_Does it have to be me that saves Toby? _

The filaments hummed back a subdued reply. (_If it's not you, then he dies. Kaput. Finished. Done. Dead and gone. Ex-Toby.)_

She sighed. Of course.

"Sarah?" Karen's voice sliced at Sarah's attention. "Are you going to be here or not? I just need to know."

Sarah looked at Jareth, whose face had remained immobile throughout the entire conversation. _I'm so sorry, my love. _"I'll be there. Sorry about...never mind. Just sorry. I'll pick Toby up in a few hours."

"Good." Karen's tone softened with approval. "See you soon, Sarah." The connection clicked off.

Sarah closed her eyes, feeling the iron crush of narrative pull molding her, filling her with directive. _Service to the realm is a right, right bitch. _She opened her eyes, letting them linger on Jareth's face. He was arrestingly beautiful still, an aesthetic assault with his patrician features and fey eyes so close. But the barrier between them was nearly palpable now. "I'm going, Jareth. I have to save Toby."

"I know."

"I'll see you tonight."

"Of course."

"I love you."

The small silence was like a chasm. "I know."

* * *

In retrospect, narrative exigency was apparently _really _angling for the hellgod plotline. And granted, Hellgod vs. erstwhile-Lord of the Labyrinth would probably have been a very exciting matchup.

Which probably explained why Toby's prophesied accident turned out to be a series of unfortunate events, each progressively more ridiculous than the last.

First, there was Toby not paying attention to a "Don't Walk" sign at a crosswalk right outside Stavro's. Sarah caught his arm and yanked him back right as a car zoomed across the tiny intersection. To be fair, that would have been Toby's fault.

However, when the signal flipped to "Walk" a few moments later and another car ran the red light at breakneck speed, that most certainly would _not_ have been. Only Sarah's enhanced paranoia and quick reflexes saved them both from being road pizza.

Then there was the slippery puddle on the way to the events room inside Stavro's, with Toby's feet shooting out from under him and his head on a collision course with a table edge at a thoroughly unfortunate angle.

And then there was the aggressive black widow spider in its funnel web right under the party table at Toby's spot.

And then the rather evil-looking bee just as a "killer bee swarm on the loose" announcement wafted from the television in the main bar area.

And then a reeeeally stray arrow from the indoor archery field next door.

And it just got even more ludicrous from there.

Finally, just on their way out, a meteor streamed out of the atmosphere in blinding fiery doom, shattering the glass front of Stavro's and unleashing a hellish inferno inside. With quite heroic reflexes indeed, Sarah managed to direct the filaments into sufficient damage control that no one was seriously injured.

_Ha_, she thought, as she deposited Toby back at the house with a kiss. _Bwa. Ha. Ha._

Toby stared up at her, wide-eyed. "Uh, what the hell was all that, Sarah?"

"Just one of those days, I guess." She shrugged blithely and then hugged him. "See you soon, Tobes."

She left him nodding dumbly at the threshold as she strolled around a corner and through the trans-dimensional filament-fueled doorway waiting for her.

Time to take care of things back home.

* * *

"You were successful?" Jareth's voice slid out of the library, carrying shadow.

"Very. Toby's safe. No grief-mad terrifying hellgod road for me in the immediate future." She paused, gripping the silence like a security blanket. "And you?"

"I'm a prisoner in my own _mind_, Sarah. Do you have any idea what that's like? _Here_, of all places? _Now_?"

She inhaled slowly and moved to stand next to him. "So, potential terrifying hellgod road for you, then?"

He turned to look at her and his stare could have frozen molten lava.

She swallowed hard. "Jareth, we _will _find a way. We can build a better containment field. One that doesn't-"

"Just another prison." Disgust and despair reverberated from him.

She reached to touch him. He turned from her before she could.

She sighed suddenly, weary beyond thought. "It's coming, isn't it?"

"Yes." He paused, as if holding the words to come against his teeth. "The way forward is not back, but through."

"_Fucking monomyth_," she replied, and she said the words alone.


	15. Void

**Void**

_In which Sarah tries to mitigate the consequences of her actions and things get very bad indeed._

* * *

It happened in the middle of Thursday afternoon. Sarah felt it like a hole opening up inside her, and she closed her eyes against the overpowering sensation of _emptying_. It was like a singularity, drawing everything away into its maw with irresistible force.

She shook her head, breathing slowly to fight off the sickening dizziness, a Hitchhiker's quote echoing sing-song in her head. _I never could get the hang of Thuuuuuuursdays. _

The filaments wailed, burrowing into her like frightened kittens. The shock of it woke her up enough to organize them into a layered wall of defense, huddled against the reaching cold.

She still felt Jareth's pull like a cord, reeling her towards him, and it was all she could do not to stagger. She sighed and lifted her chin. _C'mon, feet._

* * *

He was standing in the middle of the indoor garden, and the contrast was stark. Heirloom rose. Periwinkle. Magnificent Bastard Faerie Lord turned Lord of Not, complete with hair, eyes, and smile carved from the utter entropy of the universe's decay. Bougainvillea.

She couldn't even hold the image of him in her mind, let alone look at him directly.

But he looked at her, waiting, as if he had all the time in the world.

She felt his gaze crawl over her, flaying away a layer of filaments. Their piteous screams jolted her upright, and words dropped like icicles from her mouth. "You took down the wall."

"And I feel like a new man." His black hole eyes held nothing remotely human. "Did you think you could hide this from me forever?" He clucked his tongue, the visual of it briefly breaking something in Sarah's mind so that her eyes closed in self-preservation.

But she still heard him.

"Silly girl," he whispered. "Our will is not so strong."

There was a flash of something recognizable in there. Something she could work with...or was meant to work with, at least. The crushing weight of narrative expectation molded her, moved her, the heartfelt plea cresting behind her lips. _Because this is the way it is done._

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Don't," she said. "Please don't be this." She felt herself shattering inside, or maybe that was just another layer of filaments linked to him. It didn't matter. "Don't be this thing." Her words were a supplication against the coming darkness. "I love you, Jareth. _Please._"

For an infinitesimal moment, there was a spark of golden light in his eyes as he raised a hand to cup her cheek. "How else can you save the day?" Then cold beyond cold slid over him, burning her skin, sealing him shut from her. "If you can."

And with that, he broke into a streaming flock of emptiness that swept villainously out the window.

She stared after him, the print of his hand frostbitten into her cheek like a slap. At last, she took a long, slow breath. "Well, then. At least it's finally come. Exit Lord of Not, stage right."

* * *

It was worse than what the book of prophecy had described. Not because the book had been inaccurate, but because it was one thing to read about it and quite another to experience it firsthand.

Not-Jareth was murderously thorough, for one. When the Lord of Not destroyed something, he didn't simply ruin it or corrupt it. He annihilated it. It was if he crafted the perfect anti-thing and collided it with the thing itself in reality's fabric - both were utterly destroyed and there was a horrifically powerful release of energy, which he (of course) harvested to fuel further annihilation.

The first time he did it was quite a shock. It was a short while after the interlude in the indoor garden, and it hit Sarah like a steamroller. It took her several long moments to reorient herself and figure out what the hell had just happened.

And then she felt it. It was so strangely precise: _Lord of the Rings _was gone. A quick reconnaissance with the remaining filaments revealed its non-existence in human media.

In a confused haze, she reached with another handful of filaments and scoured human collective memory. But there was nothing of _Lord of the Rings_. The seeds of its origin were there, but somehow Tolkien had never grown them into the mythos and epic story cycle she had known. And there weren't even blank spots in the human collective - the whole of it had been seamlessly rewoven as if _Lord of the Rings _had never existed.

She blinked hard. Practically speaking, it _didn't _except in her own memories. _Good fucking lord._

_(Nononono. Bad lord. Very bad to do this. Small thing, but only the first.)_

Very bad lord, indeed. Though there was something strangely appropriate about him destroying that particular fantasy world first - it had previously stolen her attention from him, after all.

_Well, he's sure got my attention now._

The second annihilation buffeted her then, right on cue. And then the third. And the fourth.

She staggered to the library, trying not to pass out. _I_ _need help._

* * *

"He's going after one thing at a time, is he?" Portrait-Jareth snorted. "Show-off. If he'd ever read a single Evil Overlord list, he'd know better than to play around like this."

Sarah reeled from another annihilation, recovered her breath, and gave portrait-Jareth a rather unkind look. "Play around?"

"Of course." He shrugged dismissively. "He's got enough power now to go for the proverbial kill, but instead, he's building up his base and playing reality Jenga." Another annihilation wave hit and Sarah doubled over. "For instance, that last one - pair dancing is now non-existent, but soloists, ensembles, trios, etc. are all still there. Reality Jenga, it is, and rather persnickety, too."

"Persnickety?" wheezed Sarah.

"Why bother patching up reality just so each time? A waste of energy, if you ask me. Far easier to leave the holes."

Another annihilation slapped Sarah upside the head, though it didn't blind her this time. "So why is he doing it this way?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, for _you_, I imagine. There's still some of the old him left in there, and that old bit is buying you time by convincing the new him that a slow bleedout is more tortuous than a swift deathblow. And..." He trailed off with a rather smug expression.

Sarah swayed from another annihilation, but didn't keel over this time. "And?"

His lips flicked up. "It gives you time to build resistance. Come up with a way to stop him."

Her eyebrows jumped. "And you're going to help me, aren't you?"

"Of course. While I can. The new him is even less fun than the old one, if you can believe it."

Sarah gritted her teeth against another annihilation wave. "Funnily enough, I can."

* * *

The suggestions from portrait-Jareth were quite clever, involving subtle manipulations of the link Sarah and not-Jareth still shared. It was really a shame that each one resulted in abysmal failure, the last one so bad that the backlash knocked Sarah unconscious.

She cracked a bleary eye open some time later and swallowed hard. The annihilations were coming two at a time now and each double strike was currently causing her a debilitating wave of nausea.

"You alright down there?" Portrait-Jareth peered over his picture frame, stretching out as far as he dared.

Sarah blinked her other eye open. The nausea was receding some, though the double annihilations continued unabated. "Since when can you exit your frame?"

His lips flicked up in a half-smile painfully reminiscent of old-Jareth. "Since now, twinkle bat."

She startled at the pet name, blinking quickly. "Wha...how did..."

"Things are breaking down, becoming more fluid." He reached a hand down to help her sit up.

The warmth of those elegant fingers wrapped around hers made her eyes sting with tears. "What does it mean?"

"That we have less time. What next?"

Another double annihilation swept through her, then another. And then a quadruple one hit, pitching her forward into portrait-Jareth's chest. She breathed shallowly, holding his scent inside her, trying not to pass out again. "Clever didn't work," she finally managed. "What have you got in the brute force department?"

* * *

Brute force, it turned out, didn't really work any better. True, it slowed not-Jareth's pace down some, and a single annihilation at a time was certainly better than four. But it did approximately jack and squat to reverse the annihilations that were already done and cost her an unconscionable number of filaments in the process.

Each loss had hollowed her further. The filaments were willing - so willing, little darlings! They had clearly caught onto her heroic inclinations, complete with noble self-sacrifice. But their destruction weakened her.

She should have stopped after the first brute force attempt, when she realized that. But it had been so damned close! She could feel how evenly matched she and not-Jareth had been, and if she just had one more shot at it...

Well, one more shot turned into two, then four, then eight.

And it turned out that the thirteenth time was clearly _not _the charm, despite portrait-Jareth's encouragement.

Just for added bonus, the annihilations were picking up their pace again.

She sat hunched beneath portrait-Jareth's frame, her head pressed into her hands. "I should have stopped after the first one."

"Why?"

She threw up her hands. "Look at where we are now! What have I done, except make it so we can't possibly win?"

He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. "You tried. That's something."

"Is it?" She leaned her frostbitten cheek against his hand, sighing at the tingle of feeling that swiftly turned to numbness. "Is it really?"

"Well, it should appease your heroic conscience at least."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "He's going to annihilate everything. Every last damned thing."

"Is that so bad?" The words floated down, soft as snow.

"What?" She jerked upright, turning to look at him. "Of course it is! Whose side are you on, anyway?"

His smile was the cold of absolute zero. "Mine, of course."

She froze, his will eating into her mind in an immobilizing onslaught, stealing life and breath.

A wave of filaments suddenly moved to counterstrike, sacrificing themselves in a brilliant explosion of heat and light. (_Loveyouloveyou, awake, go!) _It was enough to free her thoughts, and let realization hit her like a freight train.

"_Oh, God_," she breathed.

Not-Jareth's laughter bit into her. "Not here."

She tried to scoot away, but his strength was too great, the hold on her shoulder like a vise with the gravitational strength of galaxies behind it. "How long has it been you here?"

He dragged her upright. "Since the second brute force attempt. The first _was_ rather close, you know. Couldn't let that continue."

A double annihilation struck, stopping Sarah's breath with its ferocity. She careened forward, willing herself to breathe, breathe, _just breathe. _

Not-Jareth had both hands on her now, his voice a sinuous fractal curve. "And reabsorbing my portrait self was quite satisfying." Another double annihilation struck. "You know how irksome he was."

Four annihilations hit then, momentum building. Sarah lost feeling in her shoulders, slumping forward, her vision swimming. "Get away from me."

His whisper curled into her ear. "_Make me._"

Eight annihilations smashed into her simultaneously. Then sixteen. Thirty-two. They were coming with every heartbeat, and the shockwaves reverberated through her, causing her to twitch in his grip as if she'd been electrocuted. She felt her skin lose sensation where he touched it, and the numbness was a shamefully blessed relief.

"That's right. Let it wash through you." A chittering susurration surrounded each syllable, pulling and reaching.

Sixty four annihilations at once now. One hundred twenty eight. Two hundred fifty six. Too many, too many, _too many._

"Give in to it." The tone was almost tender, slick tendrils of inexorable will burrowing deeper and deeper, sucking and gnawing.

There were thousands of annihilations now. Ten of thousands at once, hundreds of thousands. Then millions.

And in a heartbeat of millions, she knew the goblins were gone. It splashed over her like a salt wave, rousing her enough to stir against him, to shift a hair's breath away, to muster the will to breathe out hoarse words. "Where are they?"

His voice cradled her with a burning cold that stripped mind from brain. "Speak up, love. Bit busy at the moment."

A flicker of annoyance burned in her chest, putting an ember of heat in her throat. "The _goblins_, Jareth. You're the goblin king." _A lie, not anymore. But I can't...I can't... _"Where are the goblins?"

His laughter scraped with the emptiness between stars. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

She knew he'd let them slide away, his faithful attendants throughout the untold epochs. And not just them, but the memory of them. As if they never were.

The cruelty of it excoriated her.

She felt her limbs go liquid and bleed away against him. The disintegration reached so deep inside her, the filaments crying as they dissolved into nothing.

His whisper held absolute entropy in the wake of billions upon billions of annihilations. "Why do you resist?"

She let go, his will wrapping her in a web of not-ness, and slid away.


	16. Through

**Through**

_In which a way is found._

* * *

Sarah opened her eyes to nothing. There was nothing to see.

Except that wasn't right. What eyes? Not eyes. Not-eyes.

She went to take a breath, but no, that wasn't right either. No breath, not breath, not-breath -

Her mind began shrieking, scrambling for some sensation, anything at all. But there was nothing because _there was_ _nothing_.

She shrieked into the not-ness with her not-voice until she mercifully lost consciousness again.

* * *

This repeated itself an uncountable number of times until, finally, it didn't. A calm like the time after endings whispered over her.

(_Or perhaps), _suggested a quiet grain of thought, (_a calm like the time before beginnings. In the beginning, it is always dark.)_

Her consciousness paused as it skated the edge of flailing panic, recognizing the quote from _The Neverending Story_. Even if _The Neverending Story_ didn't actually exist anymore. Because nothing did in this not-ness.

_Except, apparently, me. And that single grain of thought._

Her sense of Heroic Protagonist kindled, rising inside her like a phoenix.

_Trapped in a void of not-ness? __**So fucking what.**_ _The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms. Muriel Rukeyser knew that. The Universe is made of stories._

At that, she felt a curious _forming _of substance within her. Indescribable. Ineffable.

Or was it?

She had the urge to speak into the not-ness, and found to her surprise that she had both breath and voice. "_Once upon a time_..."

"_Stop_." The word shattered in the strange fluidity of not-time. Not-Jareth swelled endlessly around her, through her, inside her, digging for that unfathomable, untouchable speck of substance.

She felt her lips then, and stretched them into an ironic smile. "_Make me_."

He dove deeper, reaching and pulling and scraping. If she still had a body, he would have consumed it utterly. But she didn't, though her lips and breath collapsed away beneath his assault.

He couldn't touch the speck cradled inside her, though. His grasp slipped around it, off it, through it, but never _to _it, as if it existed in a place beyond him.

_Ha! Thbbbbbbbbbt. _Her breath re-formed around the speck, then her voice. "_Once. Upon. A Time._"

His fury roared forth, massive beyond reckoning. "I said _stop_!" It was a sound that would have sundered galaxies, if there were still galaxies to sunder.

But there weren't. Convenient, really.

Her laughter danced between them, light as fairies and twice as bold. "Or what? You'll rip off my mouth and slice out my brain? Spare me your theatrics. My will is as strong as yours and I am officially _sick of this shit._"

He paused his incursion, regarding her with a sucking maelstrom of not-eyes.

She smiled again, a feral baring of teeth. _Hey, teeth. Nice to have you back. _"I say it's time for a story_._"

The force of him battered her again, roiling with dissolution. "Far too late for that."

"Says you. And since you can't stop me, you might as well listen."

A shadow of disdain flowed through him for the briefest of moments, sketching shape and form, a hint of nose, a sweep of cheekbone. "Your words have no power over me."

"Don't they?" She shrugged. _Helloooooo, shoulders._ "You seem a mite tetchy about my opening line for someone who's immune to my words." She leaned forward into him, wrapping her essence around the speck inside her so that his will cascaded past her like water. _Gotcha._

He stared at her, watching his infinite power slide right off.

She winked at him. "You know what? I'm just going to tell my story anyway. Maybe someone's listening."

His eyes narrowed as he retracted his power. "Tell it to nothing and no one, stupid girl." He slammed back out of existence then, leaving her alone in the void.

"That's twinkle bat to _you_, honey_,_" she muttered. She took a deep breath. _Heh, lungs. Been missing those_. She savored the sensation of that breath for a long and glorious moment, and then it was time to begin. "Once upon a time, there was a king who lost his way so very very badly that everything seemed lost forever. But, gentle listener, I'm here to tell you that it most certainly _wasn't._"

* * *

It was the first of countless stories Sarah told into the not-ness. Kings who came to their senses after falling hard from grace predominated, of course. But there were so many others, too. Ones with goblins and stars. Ones with masquerades and siblings and Heel-Face Turns. Ones with princesses and pedicures and penguins and trebuchets. Ones with Muriel Rukeyser and David Bowie and J.R.R. Tolkien and Michael Ende and Jim Henson. Ones with tvtropes and googledocs and books with large friendly letters saying "Don't Panic", ones with drabbles and luck dragons and lattes, ones with Aramaic and astrophysics and finding your one true love.

So many.

It was everything she had gathered from human collective memory from _before_, spooling out endlessly from the speck inside her. And she told these stories over and over and over again, until they flowed from her without conscious thought.

It took a _very_ long time. Nothing happened in the not-ness (which was fitting, really - it was not-ness). But inside her, she felt the speck of substance strengthening, fed eeeeeeever-sooooooo-sloooooooowly on the stories she shaped from it.

She felt not-Jareth on occasion, too. Pushing, testing, searching for a way _into_, a way _through_. Listening with an enemy's careful attention.

Maybe listening for other reasons. _A girl can hope. _

She smiled to herself. A seed of hope in an oubliette of not-ness. Seemed like a fine story component. "Once upon a time..."

* * *

Time was immeasurable in the void, of course, so words like "midnight" and "afternoon" and "twilight" were merely fanciful terms Sarah used in her endless stories. But, since she had absolute say over such things, she decided it was dawn when the untouchable speck of substance inside her yielded a sudden infinitesimal and irrefutable flame.

She had just the words for it. "_Yehi or," _she breathed, adrenaline and hope fluttering together. "_Genetheto phos. Fiat lux._" The flame pulsed inside her, against the void, cradled and caressed by her intent. "_Let there be light._"

She let the filament dreams of Memory embedded in her consciousness swirl into it, expanding it with the imperceptible slowness of ripening fruit. It took eons or femtoseconds or something in between - what did it matter? The light _was_, and that was everything. Soon enough it was a golden bubble of possibility held against her core, glittering into the void, shivering, straining, waiting to be let free. So many seeds lay inside, each one a narrative singularity bursting with potential.

_The Universe is made of stories. _

In the shadows cast by the light, she saw him. At last.

Not-Jareth had assumed a breath-takingly familiar form. _There_ were the beautiful patrician features she remembered, the lips on the verge of quirking, the eyes holding everything back. _There_ were the tapered fingers, the lean limbs with their whipsnap sharpness, the sinuous curve of neck and shoulder. All of it was carved from darkness. But darkness was something far far different than not-ness.

She smiled. She had something for darkness too, courtesy of Madeleine L'Engle's _A Swiftly Tilting Planet _and the Faedh Fiada. "I've brought you a gift."

She moved closer to him, and began a whisper of secrets fueled by the light held against her. "_With Jareth in this fateful hour, I place all Heaven with its power_." A narrative seed glided forth, golden and glistening between them. "_And the sun with its brightness, and the snow with its whiteness, and the fire with all the strength it hath._" Golden tendrils glittered and grew, seeking and shining and filling. "_And the lightning with its rapid wrath, and the winds with their swiftness along their path._" Golden roots sank in, penetrating, _being_. "_And the sea with its deepness, and the rocks with their steepness, and the earth with its starkness._" She could see into his eyes for the first time in unspeakable ages, the barest hint of something reflected there. "_All these I place, with God's almighty help and grace, between myself and the powers of the darkness_."

The force of her words rolled wild between them, thundering and quickening.

His face was a breath away, but still shrouded with darkness. "What have you done?"

She lifted her chin, holding his gaze, breathing in his icy exhalation. "Built us a nice little gilt prison-kingdom full of Sunday visit time. Wanna come, honey?"

She blew the golden bubble of possibility from her lips, still holding it together, concentrating its potency. It wafted gently as dandelion fluff.

It hit him with a sound like a nonillion stars being born.

She was blinded for a moment, immobile in the all-consuming light, quark-gluon plasma, whatever it was. But when she could see again, moments, ages, 10^-37 seconds later-

His eyes sparked crystalline, his hair sunbright as he stepped into her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her hair, her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. "Oh yes, twinkle bat. Yes, I do."

She sighed into him, tears streaming along her cheeks as she released the reins of the golden bubble with its infinite narrative potential. It expanded to cover them both in the space of a heartbeat, and then beyond to the size of a house, then a city, then a planet, a galaxy, a universe.

His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes closed. "I hated what I was. What I did. But I couldn't-"

"I know." She shook her head. "God almighty, do I know. Narrative exigency and service to the realm and all. But still, through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered..." She snorted softly. "Think it worked to bring in outside interest?"

"I should bloody well think so. If not, outside interest has no taste."

She buried her face in his neck, choking on a laugh. "I love you so damned much."

"And I you. Forever and always."

"Not long at all." Her breath was hot against his skin, smothering more giddy laughter. "Relatively speaking."

"You don't say."

"Let's not do this again anytime soon, okay?"

"So pacted." Something tried to not-tinkle and snapped like a broken guitar string.

She jerked back, staring at him, speechless for a moment. "Did you just make a Faerie promise in my brand new universe?"

He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Different rules this time round, I think. Your universe and all, love."

She collapsed back into his shoulder. "Damned right it is. Let's go home, honey."

"Do let's."

* * *

_Author's Notes: And lo! The promised happy-ish ending, which seems relatively peachy after what they both just went through. This also seems like a fine place to leave off, given the completed epic suffering arc. ;) Thank you to all my wonderful readers who kept me going throughout with your brilliant comments, reviews, and general attention. :: writerly love :: You guys are the best._

_Special thanks to Ellen Weaver, whose influence spurred me along new narrative avenues time and again._


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